The black, window tinted Escalades
and limos ease to a soundless stop
in front of the Network’s Headquarters.
The golden ones, the chosen, silver-
tongued mouthpieces anointed by
the Forces of Control to rebrand
murder, torture and economic
injustice into smooth-toned narratives
about the battle for freedom and
human rights slide out of the leather-
upholstered vehicles. They stand
in the light, their tanned, spa-pampered
skin as smooth as silk, gleaming in
the immensity of their self-importance.
They move slowly towards the skyscraper,
ready, confident, totally secure in their
nonexistent journalistic integrity. And
while choirs sing in churches this Sunday
morning, these blue-eyed puppets of capital
will lead a more important service: that ongoing
worship of a mythological, murderous America.
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