The television only gets
two channels…
A gradient of white noise is caught between a unified
fading language, and the tower of Babel is tuned upside
down.
The pinch of a wrenched smile compels twists of a smirk
from crushed tinfoil wrapped around a closet hanger.
The coat will remain absent, and the dress will
never be worn.
The console of double meaning upholds the
ubiquitous nuanced descent of a nurturing beat.
Bass, static, and boom do not mix with the color
of love…
only a wild delusion of an episode gone wrong on
the lone channel it navigates about
And yet the snow prevails on the screen of a
Bering land bridge watching arrivals ignore
the departures.
A narrative captured at the layered seams of a
tangled demise that plays between sight and
imagination.
Turn knobs and protruding push and pull buttons
control a shift in the status of power.
How is the desire configured to look,
see and stay tuned?
