Last night, we stayed up
late, my companions and I,
lulled into insomnia by
some stark-raving guy.
Drawn like moths to
the flickering blue screens
we held, lights on, tethered
to the world by a handful of
characters, all chattering
away, every line rippling
with anxiety. Journalists,
artists, hucksters and me,
a smattering of fear-mongers
among us, a meeting
of minds like and unlike.
Nonsensical rantings had
scared us, but by midnight,
it took effort to care. And that
saturation is the strange stuff
of nightmares, the creep of
ambivalence more dangerous
than words.
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
Image: by 809499, via Pixabay
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