She lost the election. We can’t know what she’s thinking. It’s demented. 

Keep tact abstract. 
Keep it for oneself 
Healing a vote, a voice split to pulp, gnawed. 
Feeling a salt chill unexpectedly going up the swirling fields 
Of humorists, ideologues, ragged modernists, including this one — 

Holding to their path, rescuing none. 
Yours, & ‘even more in mayhem,’