And so

Late stage capitalism closes in
Sputter stumble grip squeeze…
We heave and try
We trudge and sigh
Bound, and on our knees

Conditioned slaves to a broken system
Acutely self-aware
Of our own pathos 
as we participate in the continuation 
of our own oppression 

How could we make a poem with rhythm
When jolting discomfort is what is now so deeply familiar?
When removal from so much of what is natural and beautiful about the human experience has become our accepted reality…

How has it come to this though?
Our ancestors would not have wished it for us.
The legacy we stand to leave does not look great.
And yet, here we are, rubbing our noses in sea-trash-to-be, as fossil fuels burn on.

Eat shit and die.  Could we at least soften it with a comma, or even two, for Oxford?