Saturday, August 29, 2015

Polishing Dirt

If sound bytes could be used to clean
turning themselves black as their cores
they would blare empty phrases
disconnects of clashing brass
gaseous explosions of trivia

If news feeds could be used at all
they couldn't even compost
rancid thoughts couched in wretched tongues
bellowing nonsense
sounds of fury
signifying nada

if pundits could speak any words
that revolved faintly around the truth
like erratic comets wobbling around stars
they would scream to the universe
with Barnum's acid
but never his veracity

So silence the pundits, the news and the bytes
before they bite too hard at intellect
rendering it numb
before the endless polish of excrement

talk a walk and talk to a tree
it has more honesty
and the sense to stay still

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