TV Talking Heads

July 11, 2015 - Poetry

Free verse, sounds real terse; you open your purse,
And spill your sanity onto the floor.
The song and dance of lies and truth are words
Turned weapons for humanity’s hot rows.
Does the might of a rich man’s green paper
Give credence to repression’s glutton stick,
Or might a weak voice rise and not waver
before the propagandic politics
That rule the mean man? The mean man, blinded
By media, tired for lust, lost in self,
Sees “I”, only “I”; no “we” is sighted;
The crazy voices ring their siren knell.
The poets of plastic, metal, glass–cold gods–
Force his willing oblations–but what cost?

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