MSM

Headlines in hindsight and all the ones swiped back from page six, clawed back from irrelevance, a delegate to the fringe like monsters in wait.

Highway robbery or
murder away from unmentioned, smothered by its
unclassified kin.

Obituary for the obvious, a daily’s discretion, far too invested in the stocks of selling off its soul for hyperbole and misdirection.

This paper might well have crayons strewn across its creases, because you’re drawing a thesis our little ones could teach us to colour in with some grace.

Soapbox for the state, storytellers of predetermined fates; rabid dogs of reason declaring open season on those who are repudiated, of certain
undesirable traits,
until we relay those characteristics ourselves, the
logistics of playing second-rate.

I am a human and such is my race.

I am a lover and I’ll bring that to a knife fight;
neither left or
Alt-right swing, not a weapon to my name
because I am
an animal and
these claws are king.

Bring your drivel and dig in,
opinion rigged but the fact that you
can sing
doesn’t mean we only hear
the lonely octave.

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