The Art of Outrage: Poetry

How tiring to
watch the world
through black screens

Stroked willingly
to fury at any
given sound-byte

Let us shout,
lifting voices
in offense

over things
distorted in
the Carnival mirrors

Let us ostracize
based on no facts,
but sentiment only

If it sounds bad,
then it must be terrible;
The scandal is born

I've learned
the Art of Outrage,
one media spectacle at a time

There's no one here
but you and I
and the recorder for your lies.

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