It’s clear that Founder CEOs, rug-
ged individualists, and great men
are now the persecuted class, and when
they come for them I do not speak, but tug
my forelock, get online to post, and shrug
away the ploughshared sword that was my pen:
the fuck who fucked too much got fucked again,
orgasmic victim of the blue-pilled drug,
unfortune-favored, adolescent brain,
beguiled by any womaned hotel bar,
banana boat now beached and grounded on the shoal
of want, embarrassed, horny on the main—
a way a lone a last a loved, and far
from home; the river speaks: export control.