A television watching television

As  the outlines of the outdoors roar like proud lions,

And cars turn their tired tires,

The gloomy clouds

Accompanied by calamitous thunder,

Rattle the fragmented windows,

Those same shaken windows that

Dream of fault lines


Never actually  bear them .


A television blinks,

From channel,



Permitting shadows, for mere seconds.

 Simultaneously releasing elegant arrays of decorated charges,

That march single file,

Dressed in colorful capes,

And ballroom masks.


Attend suspended soirees,

With empty glasses in hand.

Running from commercial breaks


Fleeing from the  flashes of cameras,


..Stepping over the slowly rising tombstones.

These real replicas,

Held closely  to the flame,

Will slowly melt away  the fragile  layers of

High definition.

Into  blurry  puddles of  incandescent static.

(That blends right in with the collect calls and infomercials, once it settles.)


Although these electric guests

Trapped just inside,

Like suspended fruit,

Floating in   glowing jars of  gelatinous syrup.

That  house near the road,

Where the silent television

Is perilously visible, through passing windows.

Is provocatively audible, from the nearby nests of songbirds,

At different times of the day,

Various characters

From screens larger than most  microscopes slides

Look, briefly

Like sandwiched bacteria.

Frozen in  momentary perpetuation,

While  still being studied extensively,

By delirious focus groups.

These perilous programmes,

Drenched in invisibility,

But still continue to

Impress with  steady arsenals of eccentric charges,

Becoming an apparent component.

In an otherwise  exclusive stew of extensive compounds.

(Brought to you by any number of articulate games how hosts)

The crystallized cast,

(Who will  clap for everyone but themselves)

Casually pace back and fourth,

Like confused specters,

Like calculated insects,

Working to sustain an ant-farm amidst abeyance,

For all the outside world to see.

But as the rest of the trivial world watches,

From the outside,

From the otherside,

The walking dogs from the edges of traveled  sidewalks,


The buzzing zeppelin from the undiscovered skies,

They too,

Become televisions.

Become immortal,

(In their own way)

They become a channel,

For a  hungry man in a hard hat.

For a grounded astronaut.

These expendable  entities will  inevitably misplace the remote control,

And make

Insurmountable  messes with a   variety of   simple snacks,

Consisting mostly of  mostly optimistic sunflower seeds,

(Chewed into oblivion)

Sandwiches minus their cumbersome crusts,

And stale popcorn harder than most

 Passing meteorites.

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