how i learned to love the endless probes

Well I’ve seen
enough of your garbage

So i’d like to waive my right
to be involved
in any conscious way
with this evil charade
and brazen, unprecedented transfer of wealth
of yours

Im gonna
plead the fifth
sixth and seventh,
And keep on counting until I’m brought to
your village of
internment tinyhouses
on the margins of the urban bantustans
separating the infertile
from the resolved,
and the genetically unmodified
from those teeming with renegade
spike proteins
and possibly the infrastructural
footholds
for the coming
nano-spiders
who secrete black goo,
whenever directed to
by Master, Inc.,
our clever little in-house
arachnid physiology managers
of the brave new future
which is exactly right now,
our little spider-monitors of the
social credit score,
so crucial
for the maintenance
and tweaking
of the Internet of "Things,"
or of "human beings," whichever you prefer

...or maybe i'll be brought
to the gallows, instead,
or the more efficient
and humane
guillotine

Where I’ll
Plead and blubber
Just as you like it,
and then beg you
to put it in me again and again,
finally.
Just boost me
and boost me
until i'm all leveled up,
or very sick

But in the meantime you can have your
bumptious vacant-eyed foot-soldiers
of the new race-terror dialectic
go to some urban
or suburban center,
say in WI or MN,
and really
open up that society,
presumably by burning down a lot
of black-owned properties
so that whitey, etc.,
can then swoop in and purchase at
fire-sale Social Justice rates

in the mean-time
you can just sit back
and wait patiently for the elderly and infirm,
and the thoroughly co-morbid,
and the legions of newly-made opiod addicts,
and the recently hale but
now tested-upon,
all to finally die
and leave you their
wealth, pensions,
and maybe etheric soul energy, too,
who knows...
anyway, you can build a lavish bunker
or something
to pass the time

....but meanwhile
i'll be over here,
concerned a trifle over end times,
and tryna figure
out how to beg The State
to exempt me from the
deadly experiment,
in a way
that may preserve a bit of my dignity
somehow,
and more importantly,

my decades of pension

i hear AIDS on the winds
and smell anthrax in my inbox