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In the age of the meme
story can turn mean and
often the poem a propaganda

text as tattletale, like a dry
snitch on the veranda …
a prescript
of Esprit de l’escalier
raising the curtain on a colloquy
of pretext
dystopia spoken by
speakers sentenced
to a solitary
diaspora

Poor punkable players all

And that goes double for,
Yours Truly


*****


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