tall, stretching monitor looms overhead,
drooling static drops that crackle on contact,
reminding you of wide smiles and hair on end.
rusty robust robotic laughter penetrates the
juices in your brain, creating an unseen blood
spectrum, eyes wide open as you feel the
rythmic moisture dance.
silhoutte against the flickering, ever changing
channel zero. you fray at the ends, your aura
melting away, but your darkness never changes.
Channel one:
sun rise over the clouds, you're a camera, a
teary eye reflecting the bliss of light, closing
in on the bliss, your a plane, going straight
towards the sun, black corridors falling away and
crumbling upwards to the sky at a last attempt
to imprision you as you soar off. oh sweet midday,
you quiver just a little, as your children panic in
fear of earthquakes. lying on the grass, hollow
witness to the beauty you leave behind in the sky.
Channel two:
Suspect interrogation, two hulking idiot cops
weilding hatchets and water pistols, the
hatchets for the elvis fans and the water pistols
for those in favour of under water blowjobs.
" you little tease you!" one cop says to the other.
"can we get this over with? i've got zimbabwae
elections at 8.30" said the soaking wet and
limbless suspect.
Channel Three:
really slow edible nature. looks nice, drags on.
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