A satirical poem about polished creative language, inflated ideas and the systems that keep weak thinking alive.
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They call it a seed idea because “unfinished thought” sounds bad in a pitch deck. It arrives with three tasteful fonts, a provisional logo, and the damp fingerprints of everyone who needs it to be profound. By spring, it has developed teeth. By summer, the originator has vanished. The weeds have raised a second round and rebranded the rot as nurturing potential.
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A tense poem set at a broken vending machine, where a failed purchase becomes a way of circling an unsaid sentence.
A supermarket encounter poem where fluorescent aisles, a curling receipt and a sudden meeting make departure feel necessary.
Acerbic corporate satire about empathy becoming a branded process that returns people to the queue.
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