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I have a nightmare brewing on my countertop and I drink it with sugar and cream. Our children are drowning in a sea of filth and they do so in silence its see or be seen
the television
sings to me I eat the static for breakfast with pseudoephedrine
the television
sings to me and it eats me back, what a clever machine
nonsense i am nothing and
no one knows me
at the pawn shop i sell my soul for sixty cents and my radio for seventy five
to the man behind the counter who is missing a face.
at least the radio will get some use he says
as he wraps it up carefully
in cotton and lace.
everyone is selling their souls these days,
so your most precious parts might just go to waste.
might disintegrate into charcoal in some back room case
i show him my oil stained teeth but he does not care
my anger and ardor is worth nothing there
with the money i received i
stop at the store on the way home and for dinner I
purchase a prefrontal cortex and some carrots-
salvation for the sinner.
I am a vegetarian but not for much longer.
i am not built for the cold my fingers turn to bone and I becom
e fragile. My face has shattered like glass and I leave
pieces everywhere I go for others to marvel at.
modern love. modern loss.
my sinews unspool like thread and lie in piles on the floor to be swept up
and disposed of
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