Throughput Strangled (a poem)

Saturday, March 8, 2025

Sliding,
a slip in the dirt,
a punk’d pedal,
Tricky Dick in the dust.

Our teeth, on the curb,
dragged across concrete,
no roses here—
just a dandelion
in the cracked sidewalk
of a Midwestern ghetto.

The pressure—
deep vein thrombosis,
the anomaly,
the rupture of a channel,
the improper flow of goods,
the rogue entities,
destroying itself
for the sake of—
what have we gained?

We are here to pump you up,
get furious, get frantic,
get phobic—
grab the pitchforks,
roun’ dem up.

Onto your belly you go,
a snake in Eden,
the weapon we unleashed
on ourselves.

Embargo, blocked—
strangle the throughput,
choke the flow,
cut the line.

The legacy, the standards—
monuments to control,
cold hands on warm throats,
playing games
with people’s lives.

Abstracted,
the knowledge,
all disinfo,
as it serves us.

An updated truth,
patched and deployed
for anyone out there
that might be listening.

And for the rest—
here is a picture,
some more irrational rants,
snark, bark, bark,
snap and bite,
drawing blood
from a citizen’s hand.

While they change and cheat,
a diversion,
the puppets and muppets,
the few and the whole
community of NPCs,
just trying to live
quiet and peaceful like.

#poem #poetry