One Reporter's Reporting

Birds herds percolated razorishly through irrigation canals
and sept straightaway into fruitless whatevers.
It was a dark and dorky circus we beheld.
Inglorious youths emblazoned with home-made gold
chucked paper spears in the throes of pitched battle.
From the safety of our coven we could laugh but
the dwellers near the genius of language knew better.

Now, a voice: acoustical eunuch
wails plaintively over the PA about love.
Well. "What the fuck does he know?
And what power has declared this fit
for commerce?"

Somewhere
in the vast and fractal universe
a million palms
slap a million exasperated foreheads
all at once.
Write it in your little green pad.