the attention
could destroy us.
From all the open tabs
of all the incognito windows,
the chorus
of experts chirrups
"righteous indignance"—
or, put another way:
paranoia's
poker face.
*
Deep inside its
grand disguise,
the Particular
grows resentful
of having to shoulder
the burden
of the Whole.
*
Insisting on insistence,
everyone
believes me.
My voice
is the storm
of white noise
where I hide.
Yes of course, reader,
these are empty words—
how else
do you expect me
to smuggle my
self inside?
