The Mess

You back off
from the stab
and sting of things:

the mess: the rabid
tabloid pro’s and con’s
that slice

into opinions
like a sadist
into skin;

you can’t abide
the least slick
snideness –

pointless
bloodiness inflicted
in a mindless conflict;

warring politics –
unfunny farce –
sicken, then depart

and leave you
hollow, drifting
in the breach.

Pluck off
every leech
and leave

the grind!
And grieve,
bereft,

to find:
there’s nothing left
without the mess.

.