Crash-and-a-Half

Crash-and-a-Half

Facebook
Twitter
Email
Flipboard
Pocket

Mourn the poem or porn locked inside or fried,
the white scrambled pre-word, impulses so electric
they’re post-, just the paths, the pulse.

The embarrassment of backup forgotten,
Alzheimer put on like a coat you paid a lot for,
months owed to a machine. Here—

take this, my life in numbered bundles.
Don’t forget. Such blackness arrives always
sudden and sad but peaceful, not even an accident

this time. And you, half-brained, mea culpa the air
where the data hadn’t risen to cloud height,
so suitable for burial, disremembered, dismembered.

Dear reader,

I hope you enjoyed the article you just read. It’s just one of the many deeply reported and boundary-pushing stories we publish every day at The Nation. In a time of continued erosion of our fundamental rights and urgent global struggles for peace, independent journalism is now more vital than ever.

As a Nation reader, you are likely an engaged progressive who is passionate about bold ideas. I know I can count on you to help sustain our mission-driven journalism.

This month, we’re kicking off an ambitious Summer Fundraising Campaign with the goal of raising $15,000. With your support, we can continue to produce the hard-hitting journalism you rely on to cut through the noise of conservative, corporate media. Please, donate today.

A better world is out there—and we need your support to reach it.

Onwards,

Katrina vanden Heuvel
Editorial Director and Publisher, The Nation

Ad Policy
x