Wagging the Dog, or What Does the Nightly News Smell Like to You?
By The CanarY
When the ashes settled back into the ground & the people who were hiding came back out into the light, there wasn't really anything left to see. A streetcorner five blocks down was all there was left for the postal industry to write sad sad Letters Home about. A few looked around, and said, "So what... isn't this the song we were waiting for?" Commenced to dance in the rubble of the gone gone world.My first (and certainly last) "political" poem. How did that song go? "All we are saying is..." Maybe when the monkeys in suits that tell us what to do from behind the pristine lawn of their white houses have finally been forgotten, the scars of their charade might be worth living in. Written October 15th, 2001 © on Oct 14 2001 06:46 PM PST 18 • 0 • 9
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