The news is now more often read than heard. Stitching across my line of sight. A rhetoric of involvement, of keeping up, transforming the day. Getting “the facts” right. Listening on the way to work. Ritual of work + news. Accidents, robberies, “Fugitive Friday.” Now read in silence, although, the boldness of headlines. Black/white. Bloody color. Minute parsing of details. Each column a poem when heard in portions on the radio, in portions before beginning the day’s work. A few seconds stolen here and there.

The “domestic” realm has its details too. A crack in the ceiling above the heater. The neighbors moving to (vacationing in?) Mexico. My Netflix list, the current Dr. Who. A change in medication, change in cost. Things get personal, but they leak out into the cloud. Poem as news, emotional expenditure. The news that dreams bring.


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