Remote Controlled

It’s easier not to write,
To standup, or to fight
For just one moment of clarity.
In a world of waiting for
Truths to be ladled in
Dollops of daily drivel
Regurgitated and reconstituted
For easy consumption.
Charred. Chewed. Spewed.
The spinning tops are testaments
To the ease of one’s subjugation.
What use the resistance
When rewarded with
The remote in one hand
And ignorance in the other.
It might be a 5 o’clock world
Of loud blowing whistles,
But it’s the 6 o’clock hatelines
That will justify Armageddon.