Fake spam comments from Russia a half a mile long
Are the only ones I get. At least I exist.
Yet you need not enlighten me. My sense of smell
Keeps me mindful of danger. Though you may excel
At controlling behavior, your work is dismissed
As a dark and faint echo of having done wrong.
At least write in plain English. Cyrillic I don’t know.
It looks too much like hogwash imbedded with spew
Of the coldest resentment the heart can withstand.
You can speak with my accent. I know that you can
Act as if you’re the best friend that I ever knew.
I became keen to your sickness some time ago.
I once worked at a factory. Dog food they made.
I lasted ‘til near lunchtime. The smell made me sick.
I don’t feed my dog dog food. I know better now
How people out gross animals. I made a vow
To trust in the olfactory. Smell is the trick
To discerning the fear bear. I am not afraid.
You’ve invented the troll farm. We know that by now.
Trolls are lowly paid workers who work with no light.
They can see what they’re doing by watching we fools
As we flail about aimlessly with broken rules.
What I offer to all is my deepest insight
For what it may be worth and what you may allow.