The Death of Industry at the Hands of State. . .

The landscape recoils from the sheer weight of your strip mall nail salon,
And while the nails may feed their need, no one rests, Godspeed,
One nation, Under God- with divisibility for all,
Green and Forward catching today,
I hope I come down with the ethical flu,
Cause back on main street, it's just me and you,
Now, those in the brownstones and expensive suits,
Must outcry the rage and shame that they face in their sectors, glory,
A moot residual for those in the welfare line, as they take our half and split it among the folly,
Growing faster than the globe may twirl,
Vapid shrill swirl,
Takers, fond of leeching,
Can't harvest the blood from those who already gave.

Save it for the Grave.