General Malpractice

Shakespearean Sonnet
by Minnie Stacey

We’re definite, refined, and filthy rich
from servants digging ditches in their health,
lulls desperate for dreams and where we pitch
our advertising, hacking in with stealth.
Our pixelated teeth pick at their eyes
with ciphers, zero content irrigation,
like proxy Draculas our charm belies
the cybernetics of our intimation.
A population bitten by abuse
is cannon fodder in financial war,
re-branding theft we con them out of use,
thus bringing forward funerals for the poor.
Mind-numbing on demand is what they crave,
mud sticks and covers up an early grave.

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Comment left by Peter Betts on 20th May, 2012 at 22:30
Bloody brilliant!