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It brings me no special joy in having new revisions of this poem. Each time comes the sadness, the disappointment, the frustration, the anger. Each time, the microscope of society’s consciousness is stuck on the broadest points, serious concerns are continually packaged in bites easily and quickly consumed for our hyper-stimulated metabolisms that shits it back out as refuse having retained nothing of nutritional value; instead of a magnification at the highest power to expose the malaise at its most basic – at its most insidious – to understand, to remedy.

A Massacre Carol

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