April 6, 2019

Iguess the 48 hours tethered to a Holter monitor went well. Wired up made me wired, so it was hard to sleep. But overnighting in a hospital would have been worse. Results will be presently, but no one really knows how the heart works. Maybe one’s first love knows. After that it’s all speculation.

I have appointments come tomorrow. Yep, a Sunday. No sleep for the diminishing. MRIs And MRAs, and the Cubs suck, and the Attorney General of the United States is singing “Katy Barr the door,” and so yes, there is trouble for Trump on the horizon, and someone is sure to claim that that show us your taxes law sunset decades ago. I don’t think so, but I ain’t the Supremes, and it’s to their court it will surely go. And the Federalist Society will shine much light on the new guys. Don’t ya think.

And I’m two days behind on a poem a day for April. Going to be that way for another day or ten. But here’s one from last year’s NaPoWriMo.

Click Bait Gate

I once thought in paragraphs
admittedly in the occasional italics
but the script was declarative
informed by personal improvisation
of principals particular to upbringing
and upkeep

I’d peep about politics
I’d chirp about culture
I’d high mind the American eagle
I’d lowbrow the downmarket
I’d play philistine to the guillotine
on the chopping block of the American
Dream and scream at the schemes of anti-
pluralist and revanchist seeking requiem
for the souls of their Lost Cause

That was then

When debate was the gate behind which
facts were marshaled,
arrested by agreed upon warrant,
attested to by all sides

then the jailbreak

the trick of the click
the moment of the meme
trolls on a roll
bots on a bounty
thumbs up thumbs down
a toggle on the scale


All Hail
Social Media

day 3 2018 NaPoWriMo

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