Monday, June 14, 2010

The Fourth Estate

Headlines of the nation sway
in the wind. They wave through
gracious space and hang on our
neighbors flagpole. We adorn
them, those black print waves
of words that mount so prideful
in the basking sun.
Headlines read into many things.
They spell the nation with urgency,
curving their words, donning false
pretenses, scrambling the truth:
California burned as our country
was sold out, as we bowed
out of the world stage, tail
tucked beneath our seat
and there was nothing else
to report that day, besides
the fire hydrants that failed us.
Our leaders teach us
how to spend, paying credit
with credit, taxing us monetarily,
creating debt with each printed bill
and American’s will have
to eat the words when they realize
change may be only skin deep, for
you see reporters run the television as
communications run the gambit.
Headlines smell like coffee and age
like obituaries. They sound the sirens
of the world and raise history from
the dead. Orwell has never been
more cliché, putting Big Brother.
on the tips of tongues. He bleeds through
the pores of every literate, every
paranoid, every truth-seeker,
every congressmen and social
examiner—and still the people
don’t see:
he’s watching the world
through a screen on his wall.
The cameras are on the
corner of the streets and
he’s distracted us with his
screeching call that resounds
through radios, satellites,
reporters, televisions—
enticing us with screen
after screen silver
and liquid diamond—his
deceiving us couldn’t be
anymore clear.
The message is crystal:
the digital age is a farce,
designed to free up the
airwaves for the radio
waves—those stowaways
of intrusion that shall catch us
in their currents and take us to
their masters who will tell us
to tag ourselves to protect our
children, to find our missing
loved ones, to unmask the secrets
of our respective lives, to make
ourselves accessible to anybody
who may doubt who we are—Big
Brother returns!
He wears the mask of the bald eagle,
soaring through cities around the world,
spreading his plague of hate in the hearts
of man. He’s monitoring us in his red, white
and blue, using this country as a ruse to seize
the world. America the Trojan Horse! The
Enslaver of the world with the blue helmets
who walk behind it, the council who
holds its reigns—the money trust shall seize
your land, your people and things!
He’s watching his monitors,
he’s studying his screens, choosing what
messages, what people, what pictures
to carefully ween, like Hitler—he’s
culling images—he’s staging scenes,
deciding what the truth shall literally mean—
his youth shall know only
what they see.

--Michael Aaron Casares is the editor of Carcinogenic Poetry and owns/operates Virgogray Press, an indie press working out of Austin, TX that specializes in poetry chapbooks and anthologies. His work has appeared in several recent online and print publications. He has authored four collections of poetry with Virgogray, New Polish Beat and Shadow Archer Press. Michael also paints; his work can be seen at the Calcasieu Gallery and other venues in San Antonio, TX.

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