Rubber Barons

Rubber barons in glass citadels,
directing commerce with a flick of a cigar
It’ll take more than that.
More than dirt to keep us buried.
Whip the head back and laugh through pig lips.
You’ve squealed your way to the top
and we can hear the voice over the loudspeaker
cracked and chirped like broken glass through silk
Telling us to stay inside.
Hide away thoughts of tomorrow and trade them for the fears of today.
If you make it past the bulldozer men in their pig suits
spit in the cold blue eye of the static god,
and give him our pain and toil when sending him to the void.