Missing the forest for the
trees has always been a nono,
a metaphor
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.
m.d.
paust
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