Missing the forest for the trees has always been a nono,
for dangerous myopia, the Wagner-loving poet, e.g.,
oblivious to predatory aspiration.
Now don’t go thinking, friends of mine,
I claim immunity from this really quite sane approach
to avoiding cerebral hemorrhage or gastric embarrassment
trying to process some unimaginably horrific implication.
I smiled, feeling warm compatibility with John Prine’s
smiling lyrics advising me to abandon commercial news,
let it jabber, flutter away, rediscover simpler living
in a little cabin, starving fears and appetite for titillation.
Signs of encroachment, barely deniable, impossible
to ignore, a laptop my sole receptor of word from out there--
memes and screams and links to links. There’s one I rely on,
Reliably Uncomfortable, Google it. Get some mitigation.