i woke
by rolling over
a hiting my head
on the wall

and as i lay here
unable to drift off
i feel profoundly
glad
my literary heroes
didnt have social media

sylvia vague posting
about her husband
while posting gardening
and cooking tips with
a cold despondency
old hank only posts
celene quotes at two am
along with debussey videos
and sends dick pics
drunkenly to everyone

kafka complaining
about the inane doldrums
while mark twain posts
questionable memes
falling back to his
sam clemens account
while he rides out a ban

i sit here with
sinus pressure in
a vertiginous state
longing for her
shapely thighs to
muffle the world
thinking anything
to stave off the hunger
shining in her eyes