Teleodynamic Howl

for the entangled minds in the quantum market

I saw the best hearts of my era devoured by the algorithm’s pulse,
trapped in neon grids of perpetual trade, their dreams collapsing like wave functions
into profit margins, into debt’s infinite scroll—
who bartered their breath for cryptocurrency’s mirage, who vanished into the cloud’s
   hollow womb,
who woke screaming as the Dow Jones bled through their eyelids,
who choked on the smog of progress, lungs filled with futures unclaimed—

Capitalism! O teleodynamic engine, spinning chaos into gold,
your gears slick with the oil of forgotten hands,
your pistons humming the anthem of collapse—
I hear you in the static of dead markets, in the static of dead eyes,
in the Schrödinger promise of more: both feast and famine
superimposed, until the observe(r)s starve, until the system decides.

What sphinx of quantum steel and data-smoke splits the soul from labor?
What equations coil like serpents in the boardroom’s shadow?
Entangled! Entangled! We spin in your web—
the Uber driver’s steering wheel, the migrant’s trembling thumbprint,
all reduced to probabilities, to risk assessments, to graphs that flatline
while the CEO’s yacht cleaves the sea into shares.

Moloch whose love is a blockchain! Moloch whose mind is a dark pool!
Moloch whose factories birth black holes where galaxies of sweat implode—
I surrender to your event horizon, event horizon, event horizon—
your event horizon.

We are the particles you accelerate, smashed into debt’s concrete,
our families split like atoms, our children born with expiration dates,
our cities glowing like server farms, humming the dirge of the perpetual now—
while your engine, your godless engine,
teleodynamic and insatiable,
synthesizes our wails into silence,
our fire into zeros,
our howl into fuel.