Did you ever fall asleep with death
in the corners of your mouth? Or maybe,
it was just
M&Ms and pasta.

Just before you drift away, your jaw
pops so loudly it startles the dog, and you
are sure it’s broken now, except you can
move it and it doesn’t
But it’s broken.

Well, struggling to watch a shitty season of “Scandal”
is more fulfilling than trying
to follow along with the latest socio-political
brouhaha on Twitter,
where some level of Dante-ish grad school hell
rehashes itself daily,
where 140 knows no nuance,
where patience is mythology,
and no one’s anger—
         no one’s pain—
is tolerated.
Not that you’d know,
you got a job in the city instead of going to grad school.

Then you find yourself saying,
“In the old days of Twitter”
like some privileged douchebag who
likes to read herself think.
Shit… “douchebag” isn’t a very feminist slur.
Good thing you’re done playing the mainstream
white lady feminist
reindeer games,
because now, no one will read you think.

I’m trying to come to the point.”

Tingly tingly temples, likely caused
by that broken jaw.
“Is dry skin holding
Holy shit, YES.

We spent a century teaching everyone to broadcast
themselves, called it
and we are dumbfounded when no one
on the Internet actually
They don’t pick up our hurt, it all
spirals down a teflon toilet of

The dog is staring at you, crocodile-style, from your office,
cat-like in blaming you
for both the cold wind and the low-quality
dinner. Yes, the same creature
who eats poop and duck heads from street garbage,
that one
didn’t like “salmon & potato” unless you
mixed in cheese. Good thing she doesn’t have Twitter,
you’d be down a toilet, with a broken jaw, no less.

You believe in life online, you do. You have felt
in the worst, best way, the fine line
between tools and weapons. You just can’t shake
the feeling that this detonation of hubris
vomit will lead elsewhere.
Like, duh,
(a) none of this is REAL, and
(b) there is no difference between you and me.
It’s physics, assholes.


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