Typing half-churned poetry,
touching screens with a tongue,
bearing in mind the doomsday clock.
Putting passive voice on resumes,
love letters, and easily hacked apps,
I think Romanticism is back.
The lexicon is overflowing, overtaxing,
and overstaying its welcome.The NYC,
Luddite teens had a point, no?
In another fantasy interview,
“Where did you learn how to list things?”
“Growing up as a modern woman.”
Even writing waits with jaws like a trap.
I am reaching to articulate ignorance,
but it only feels like too much creamer.
Redressing and addressing rumors,
“No, you can’t borrow my society!”
This grinding, lurching is mine.
Silver will go out of style, again.
So will shyness, so will saneness.
Settling only happens to the easily moved.