nosebleed and cartilage build the private road
the gourmet bread is baked with salts of sweat
the hull of the superyacht is bent by callused hands
ninety-nine goes to the one percent
modern logic is older than ever
backrooms govern nation and man
the hoi polloi bail us out at every turn
and get their nothing in return
the more we know the more they suffer
the great machinery is the golden calf
propelled by little engines
never lived childhoods are the engines
that’s how it’s all put together
foundational philosophers play the flute
from sheet music paper called justified belief
the system always self corrects
the social compact’s still functioning
so
in the end
or better yet
in the very long run
almost everybody wins