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Screen Dump 632

And here despite the opening credits

is the turnkey scene

with all gathered 'round for takeaways

from the beloved soon-to-expire . . .

takeaways to clutter the walkups

of your immunocompromised self . . .

Cue up The Last Station

for Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy's spin

on what matters

when it all begins grinding to a halt

with a drizzle of rice vinegar . . .

Turn the page, please . . .

A bear walks into a bar on a dog day afternoon . . .

Again, please . . .

Life out of balance . . .

OK, field notes wither you . . .

You'd think they were the only ones . . .

How about a pop-up pastoral with odysseyites

waist-deep in knee-jerk conceits

dropping PEZ with the intensity of slam dunks

while sampling craft beer à la carte? . . .

You're right to worry the absence of joviality . . .

The countdown, then . . .

How about that? . . .

Is that enough? . . .

Is it enough to parse

the short attention span of Youtubers

while your double traces your moment(um)

sitting at home on a yoga mat

fingering designer beads

the requisite number of times? . . .

The book escapes your late night hands

and rewrites itself to mirror the dystopia du jour . . .

Time is running out . . .

And not because of nothing either . . .

Mirjana Grasser