I fell off the posting bandwagon for a bit, but I’ve been writing the whole time, so hey, it all works out! Let me get this thing rolling again with a poem I performed a little bit ago for Orlando’s Loose Lips, which is a monthly reading series downtown. The theme is always news related writing, so I did a short piece on the news itself, which has been, as you are I’m sure well aware… painful, to say the least.

Don’t Click

My Macbook screen stares me down.
If you stare into the abyss of your computer, it will stare back into you.
It beckons my eye to look, directing me in like a lighthouse beacon.
The date and time bar in the upper right corner hold secrets… terrible secrets.
It says, “Click here and you will possess knowledge. You will gain power.”
My computer tells me this about every twenty to twenty-five minutes.
And, like Pavlov’s dog, I salivate,
Not wanting to wait for my reward.
So I steer my cursor up to the corner,
And instead of bells, I hear the hungry click of the mouse,
And know the reward is coming. The drug. The dopamine rush in my brain sighs,
And says, “Yes!”
 
The click tricks me again. 
The screen changes, and where there had been an innocuous date and timestamp,
Is replaced by the heading newsfeed “Top Stories.”
The thing about “Top Stories” is that they’ll always leave you
At the bottom.
When the world demands blood,
When the feed lusts for 24/7 sacrificial coverage,
There is no room for sleep. For quiet.
There is no space for peace falling and
landing like feathers on your shoulders.
The headlines and stories will not make you feel good.
The dopamine fix that cries out,
“Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” does not care
That you will be left under the covers,
Hiding from bad politician boogeymen, natural disasters, and clean, crisp, suit-wearing mass murderers.
Manic, searching, and crying out for stories about kittens and puppy-dog heroes
who pull grandma and grandpa from burning houses.
Give us a newsfeed filled with “Mom Saves Toddler” or “Toddler Saves Mom.”
Give us pie-eating festivals and stories about old people sewing quilts for children in hospitals.
Give us something else than this unrelenting Masochism of Clicks.
Give us anything else.

Hiding from dying and convict politician boogeymen, pathological liars and crisp, cold suit-wearing mass murderers.
Give us a newsfeed filled with “Mom Saves Toddler” or “Toddler Saves Baby.”
Give us pie-eating festivals and stories about old widows sewing quilts for charities and homeless shelters.
Give us something other than this unrelenting Masochism March of Clicks.
Give us something else to make our mouths water. 
Give us anything but this.