Your future is a junk bond loan,
say monochrome media monotones
datadumping grimbytes by paramilitary drone
on the front step of your no deposit home.
They own the bones
that walk you round this horrordrome
from when you’re small til when you’re grown
and all your neural circuits blown
whence your flesh is soft sweet loam
and stone angels turn from wreckage blown
from nightmare winds that howl and moan.
Pull down the cone, you are alone
In the zone