On the specter of higher wages

a poem by Rob Halpern

Who can explain this sudden jubilation a swing
Inside the moon’s dark mood a grave from which
We return at dawn so lost inside extraction
- ’s deal with the dead to shed tender coins my
Words attach to arcade nerve a pissed elation each
Emotion an adjunct to trade whose algorithms
Replace my too excitable body the way machines
Once replaced my dad like quant strategies they pop
The flesh of surplus hands as inventory annuls night
- ’s predations the darkness streaming bounty’s blight
I barely note the latex fibers & quality weave beneath
My skin when we sleep bearing nothing legible
No trace of the labor it takes to bring you to me
Thru fields of tin & mines of rice just sync my name
To what forgotten forms desire assumes say Betamax
Or cylindrical phonography even the Dragon Ball 
Franchise stands a chance of crushing the banks
When losing steam they induce my measure 
 — ’s fake calm.