Energy in this room. Furnishings in this room. Particles of life. Photons. Papers with ideograms which are not always loyal. A television’s most sincere dreams. I cherish the t.v’s dreams like those of a bride. I feel a twinge when I must turn it off. It is like leaving a lover when I must leave the room. I close the door behind me, to let the television know that I am its protector. When I find dust on the forehead of the television, I could weep. But it lets me know how faithful my television is. When I see a television thrown out, lying with the garbage in a street, I feel an urge to rescue it. Even if it is dead, it deserves better. How could you not offer a decent burial to one of your closest living relations. What sort of animal lives in that house?
I like to be born and I like to bloviate.
Yadda yadda. There is a cave
with a tiny Plato inside it.
And I go there every day. I find the dark
subterranean roses. And I bathe them.
I use the old tub I was born in.
It is battered and makes a horrible sound
when I drag it across the cave floor.
My cave’s neighbors think that is me
clearing my throat every morning. What a nightmare!
But it is impossible to explain. So the neighbors
in the next cave own my heart unlawfully.