I know bankers are people

I should apologize 

for yet another poem

about death and political economy

but a file called No File

offshore and untouchable

burns endless copies of itself

as a messianic cloud

of media rises above

rioting squares

and the colony called Don't Stop

does not stop

cools a moment

against the bulletproof flanges

of the machine of more of the same

churning out repressible difference

one dead darkened body at a time

Once in Blockadia

went a little like this

excess surveillance

and what could feed on the dead did

though ancestors and ghosts

enlivened us too

Beneath the poetry

everything beyond the page

what went unrecorded

mattered most

and goes on resisting 

as it can and as it must

Comrades     I will be saying

shall we hide our brave face

on this daily walk with death

or take us simultaneous 

as complicit beings wondering 

how to stop     but carry on differently

despite all we're freighted with –

unearned privilege endless debt

collapsible colonies muttering

doges sputtering fossil lanterns

the metallic insides of the earth and

the proximity of death squads –

and still slink silently 

towards better worlds?

What is the nearness 

of economies and lobotomies?

Note how finance is still

the cryogenic liquid

of this period evaporating

what lasts and filling the tanks

of sulphurous lies

Meanwhile beneath the glassy surfaces

of our smart phones – deep in pocket

children pull handfuls of dusky coltan

from a muddy trench in the Congo

as in the movie house

whispering of solidarity and mutual aid

some kid – god love him

squeezed between limitless debt

and dwindling job prospects

says it's all good

just before his brains become 

some zombie's next meal