Sweat pours down Beep! Beep! Scan faster - Change Hundreds Take Thousands Earn Millions Circulate endless change sweat the bills away. Lines, Lines Endless Lines Make Money Keep None Sweat pours down Codes! Numbers! Type faster = here's A code for eggs A code for shirts A code for souls let numbers flow let's make more codes! The belt churns !service faster faster goes time tires the speed !!service No time to think to feel scan scan scan scam time of its Time ticktock¡¡!!ticktock make it go back not forward It's Fordism__ It's Post-Fordism Post-Post-Fordism Manufacturing is dead Long Live Manufacturing of the kind that moves labor down and leaves labor here to be called Teen Jobs !!SERVICE!!
I can't stand the ceiling's stare judging the glowed smoke I look up distraught seeing the smoke coil upwards being the snake sliding past the air. Light from the dark outside oozes into curtained windows, forcing luminous clarity on turbulent emptiness ¿Why? am I condemned to see that the only way to sleep is to offer embers and foggy shadows? How many nights has this not occurred? My eyes swollen from the pain of activity desire closing. but how? tomorrow will be another day. perhaps. The ceiling stares My exhaustion is complete; I cannot sleep.
Ode to the Distribution Brigades
Dedicated to the Supply Drop Volunteers after the Freeze
The line stretches far filled with hungry faces and solemn eyes waiting impatiently; the sun weighs them down the wind pains their bones the line stretches far for they lack water and food basic necessities That's where you come in. the red shines through gray abandoned solemnity you, tirelessly press on - engaged in endless combat against the isolation of Our people In this combat against hunger against thirst against abandonment of us you are the tip of the spear You, the Distribution Brigades sharing what little we've got showing change comes only from us shining your red against the frozen gray. The line stretches far we are all aware of the need of the limits Yet we press on - share what we have! share that bit of bread today build that bit of conscioousness; for every hungry face seen desperate for a sign of change, will be a determined face tomorrow storming heaven to end the need for any more brigades
About the Writer: Carlos Campos Jr (they/them) is a Chicanx (pronounced chee-cahn-eh) poet. They were born and live in Texas but their home is in Monterrey, and is a founding member of the Houston DSA Arts Collective. Their work can be found in the Houston Review of Books, where they debuted. One can find Carlos on Instagram as @CompaPoeta. They’re always open to messages, whether it be poetry or random discussion.