It takes no effort just to check
if happiness is at my fingertips, almost
none, just a sliver
of the weight of this moment,

the horrible, gaping, eternity of now.
There must be something worth reading here.
Beyond this waiting room
is only surgery.

I hear there’s something wicked in the news,
and if it gets any worse I may be redeemed
in my widening anger, my own preparing
for the worst.

There must be a picture that moves me.
There must be a product, a chuckle, a reason to care
that justifies my easy chair –
a thought, transmitted and transmuted, into pure grace.

Yes, I have sought salvation,
I, a sinner, poor in all things save coltan,
and every time I look online I find
more than enough rope to hang myself.