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these jockeys of the radio waves

saddlers of the telling box

of prepared visions


these superficial elite

the voice of the day you know

pimps of mammon

kinks of the castle


they need not art

nor integrity

nor can they stomach either

they need only to open wide the sluice gates

that the gold may pour

into the hands of their masters

and whore keepers…


they speak no art

nor integrity

only what the masses wantonly scream for

to satisfy their insatiable lust for things to consume


and we raise our drunken cups

these opaque vessels

and belch a toast

to those with nothing to say

but with many, many words



so empty

so deafening…

so utterly filled with noise


whilst under the table

their Lords and masters

wring their hands with glee


for the pickings are bountiful

because the slaves think not


and are willingly led to believe

that they are free




One Comment

  1. So weird. I thot you had been reading my fb conversations this morning, only to find the date on this post is 4 days ago! Maybe God is moving in a lot of minds. Wouldn’t be surprised.

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