Saturday, March 08, 2014

My television is a forest

My television is a forest, a scene of flutter and tremble and tiny, sporadic birds
There are no commercials tempting me to harm myself with the latest caloric mash
There are no cosmetologists telling me what to think about tanks or drones
There are no comedians building up for a clever line about racism or relationships
There are no corporations informing me in small print how they're going to own me
There are no confidence men daring me to embrace at cost their newest version of old religion
There are no cobblers whose cars assembled by robots will bring me this forest right here
Through this window at my desk
There is a cove, down there, with geese and leaves and flotsam and endless shimmering light
There is an ivy, along there, with itching and boiling hungering for my touch
There is a woodpecker, just there, with algorithmic, swiveling head looking for tiny beetles
There is a piece of styrofoam, resting there, with mildew and algae and time forward looking
There is a sound, all here, of boats and industry and electricity and dogs and cars and tractors
There is a life, now here, with words like coffee reminding me of clarity
My television compares less and less to the wonder of a world where tiny, sporadic birds
jump about from limb to limb and chase from tree to tree
something small, smaller than me
, while long dead trees wait in the water to learn what they will become

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