Daily Planet

Every day the papers vaunt hugely/before the microscope of my beady eyes./Soul flame,a night bird /wipes out all illusion. I want to pray,wring my hands,/that I might keep them caught up,/in what I mostly call bad luck./Parades,haunted houses,suspect handshakes./Since politics is of gender,/where there’s smoke there’s fire;/a Kansas City woman calls her broom a rocket,/it blasts from inside her,/gone the next day./Which report makes all the other ones true?/Bigfoot,Iran, evening measured by last evening.Giddy arts,smokeless,hands slapping other hands./Those misfits at center stage/they seem to like it./They rush to concur,once they grasp it: the damage done./All this tells me is the price of a dime,/entering the world of print./ Borders,honeybees,possessions, /blood of many races mingled, /they  taste cold water through this jet stream.

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