BRIONY
JAMES
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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