Spin

You pick up the morning broadsheet,
That cornucopia of information
You rely on to get a hang of this world,
This dot called Singapore too.
The parade of words
Cramped close in column inches.
Words with insidious meanings
Words designed to obfuscate
Words that hypnotise you into complacency
Such pliant reader are you
That beside the smudges of ink on your lil fingers,
That Nebula of your mind too
Is smudged and clouded by Spin.
Planting falsehoods
Feeding misinformation
Perpetuating evasions
Evading truths
It is just Spin.
All in a morning's work
for our revered broadsheet.