at the pinnacle of
worldly wealth,
the fortunate corporation
is simultaneously
starving & gorging
its well-being––
to serve the self-interested.
it’s withering its
innards––
its stomach, its spleen, its
kidneys, its gall bladder, its
bladder, its lungs, its
brain, its eyes, its etc. …
it cannot yet feel what
it’s doing/has done––
the practice
of gorging greed in the
sunlight of
abundance––
the criminality
of profit-pleasing-waste
in the shadow of scarcity.
the fortunate corporation
feeds on the flesh
of dying & defeated
companies––
on the naïve &
ambitious energies
of new-born businesses
that they can buy
for pennies on the buck––
& on the souls of weary experience
with their exhausted but willing
competence.
it gobbles up
the feast of super-nova
start-ups & disgorges
whatever idealism
remains.
the cosmic reckoning is awake,
& it’s hungry––
the fat
vulture of fallen
dreams
has been summoned
& it will soon
appear.