“We all hope for a peaceful world today.”
Uh…Who?
I vomit upon the sight and sound of its self important voice.
The makeup riddled head glares into my eyes and speaks to me in tongues while praying on my need for a “conflict”.
I can feel its partner “the couch” slowly making a move on me.
Its witchcrafts verse has no effect.
It pulls a knife to carve its initials into my memory for a lifetime or two.
I pull away as to not be scared. There they are, the actors in the commercials.
Believe me, I’ll pass the actors commercial secret on, in hopes of protecting my young.
Nodding and bowing, waiting for a clap or a boo, its last emotional sentence secures the trust of those willing to believe.
The guarantee of fruitful career as a hairspray model is just enough for some people in the end. On channel 2.
Can it promise me a crawl claiming rain, outbreak, heat sickness, kidnapping, rape, murder or the end of the world?
If I can call 1-888 this and that for a quick hit from a pipe packed with whatever the hell the next guy tells me I want, why bother.
I will Escalade my way into escaping my darkest fears in the comfort of a good buy. I might just tell a friend or two about my expensive little curve! Oh, that weekly itch in my palm is back again. It’s coming via check. A trusty rebate in route keeps me true to form, weekly!
Looking forward means never looking back at the better buy that loomed on channel 3.
All we fuckin’ need is an honest to god rally around the flag war! Channel 5 makes it so.
We can all drive there together side by side in our personal chariots.
Please give us live blood curdling religious prophets drinking the blood of another faceless young son from Ohio or Montana. What was his name again?
Rally around the market.
Rally around the flag.
Report to the Bridge!
There’s a child born every minute in my part of town today.
Yesterday afternoon there was a Dynasty looking down on us from heaven.
Just last night I saw a man standing in the street smiling his way into his next to last word.
He stood there all night long holding a cup attached to a string that appeared to go on forever.
He stared into the dark sky praying to god to silence the sound of the lies that tattooed his leathered lips.
His wife and daughter knew all about him and his conversation with the cup.
This morning I saw you and I sitting up there looking overly confident.
“It’s your turn honey.”
Your voice echoes over and over again in my mind.
I step up, and strike out.
The umpire lets me have another try seeing as how it is all a game.
“Where is the secret empire in the sand?” I think to myself as this so called life makes a surprise appearance.
Orwell sits in the stands cheering on the last full day of winter.
I throw the head out of the 4th story window into the snow.This poor, poor year.
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