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If you pause
for a bit
you’re now behind,
as sprinters
lap joggers
a thousand times

The importance of speed
is savagely rabid,
where repeated codes
let us express
less elaborate

Long form is dying
in a riot of replies,
as birds pursue buzz
for mentions
and allies

The past had cycles
sprawled in pages,
not rumor infernos
that char
with its blazes

Opinion was poured
from the filter of a few,
then keys became turnstiles
for the novice
to blitz through

The burden of truth
is obscured on flat screens,
where context is bound
by what it all means

We are directors
in a disordered scene,
spinning sagas
in wild theaters unseen

Fresh techniques
unleash crumbs
for consumption,
in binges of data
with no sustainable function

Louder is the gospel
we amplify at will,
with transmissions of merit
in the spheres that may fill

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