Scrolling

Now that the world is literally in my hands— 

perhaps this point of view is bad posture: 

downcast and wiser—or exposed over and over. 

Find myself responding strongly so endlessly 

to visuals sublimely subliminal—pausing— 

my tunnel vision expanding headline-by-headline— 

on the bus, in a crosswalk, or in my crawlspace  

at work—the cosmos unfurl across my retnas 

giving proof to the inch-by-inching that I do. 

At the doctors I try to get worker’s comp. 

“Mm,” she said. “No, the pain’s been coming on a while now.”