Something I have been working on

I am off the mob
the jostling diseased billions
a glaring, hating, compressed, hurting multitude
dressing carefully, considering their coming doom.
Stepping aside for amubulances
that rush the injured to hospitals
stacking them like logs
before a woodstove,
The lonely wander into
banks like ants to a pile of sugar.
Hustling their booty into their
oversized vehicles they circle
the centers of our cities
their exhaust interwoven
with soft breezes off
disappearing lakes
pacing the slow absence of the color green.

I am off the mob that passes
morality tests proudly for the privilege
of working inside a large box.
The corporation’s propaganda tinkling
from speakers in the cheap ceiling
like the announcements
in a prison camp or a collective farm.
Thanking their serfs which they pay nothing
as they scheme to pay less.
They are told that their souls
are valued by the company.
The chunk you leave here under our cameras
after you trudge home to your apartment
we cherish as the wasp cherishes the ant.
Be aware. Do not travel too eagerly to your home,
mind our perimeter of influence.