The title suggests a spell aimed at the mainstream media, and the poem plays out like a small, strange ritual. In the first stanza, a TV pundit waiting in the green room collapses, apparently overcome at the sight of "brotherly love" coming to something. The phrase is ambiguous. It could mean love bearing fruit, or it could mean love amounting to very little, and the poem doesn't settle which.
The pundit's body reacts before his mind can: his stomach rebels, he nearly weeps, he looks pale and sad, yet he ends up barking, as if his professional habits have turned into noise. The speaker then steps in with an odd remedy, sand to carry in his pocket, a weight that will take him "down into a well."
The tone is dry, a little mocking, and also oddly gentle. Judging by the imagery, the speaker seems to want the media figure humbled and brought somewhere quiet and deep, away from the studio's glare. The mood is eerie, folkloric, and darkly funny.