Hostage Calm Nosebleed Section
Standing at a distance
Collecting measured, empty fiction.
Syndicated day-time faces
Spin the world into their favor.
(And there’s dead air on the airwaves)
The news at six, a foolish fix
A comfort from the working shift
The vehicle to rubberneck
At the cars crashed miles away
We gawk, we tread,
We count the number dead.
Commercials for the coming war—
Watch the ratings soar
This is what I strain to see
Standing at a distance.
