MY TELEVISION SLEEP: sketches of reality.

She lies there dead

Dead yet so awake

Awake as her power is well put behind her sleep

Connected and in position she waits

For that click of power that will jerk her up

Yet for months have I denied her this

The very delight that is her wake

When I brought her in I loved her with a passion

The very first passion you give to a new found love

Or love I thought she was

Till all she offered was a continued repetition

Of other’s perfection or idea of perfection of life

Behind those four corners

She reminded me of how imperfect my life was

As I spent hours upon same in front of her

She continued to define beauty to me

In the “realities” of other’s choreographed lives

So I din’t have to go out there and live,

I could stare into her idea and watch from the sidewalk

As others lived while I aped

While I tried to fit into the perfect idea of her’s

So one morning I decided

That I would go out and be the life

Walk and breath in the air

Feel the wind in my ears and cold in my nostrils

Hear the drop of rain from the heavens

And the same trickle upon my cheeks

And when I did I found me

In the reality of true living

All was so different

From the perfection Tv made coherent

So I came back and switched her off

As the flower beside her reminded me

That life was out there and not in here

Not between the four corners of my TV.

PePa

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