after the gold rush in poetry

here we are at the fall of Rome
the gate-barbarians strictly our own
privileged classes swelling with hate
tearing us down with demands for more
fences and an end to all gates
because there’s lead in the water
because there’s poison in the pipes
of a series of tubes called the internet
because we’re just plumbing the depths
of hearing what we want to hear instead
hearing what’s actually happening here
here we are at the fall of Rome
the fault not in the stars
the fault strictly our own