“The Staple of News” by Craig Kurtz
A pox upon your news reports,
the idle blather, vain retorts
of nincompoops who get paid to
spread scuttlebutt that’s all untrue;
you listen to the media,
that faux intelligentsia,
who promulgate a pack of lies
of facts rendered counterclockwise;
the publishers and the pundits,
from secret-handshake syndicates,
will move the public frame of mind
just like a clock that’s theirs to wind;
these are the people you won’t meet,
they’re in some private boardroom suite,
but you will feel their pressures on
your judgments, thou automaton;
ye dancing engines, set by type,
believing almanacs of hype,
the public is a great timepiece
that chimes to plunderbund’s caprice.
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