Watching Screens
bouncy eyes become balls of bread in circuses,
so many twin black wide holes
to wolf down the rhubarb sugar mocha supple pink
wax liquid flesh,
a seductive glisten on the new cars, fine clothes,
plush beds,
and worms in tequila.
days become years of the parade of bees-turned-to-husks,
wasp nests in poked honeycombs, scandalous vogues,
fashions,
oh so many lame legions of peccadillos,
hoarded in subterranean mainframe-spleens.
everyone knows it--everyone saw--
somewhere in the infinite archive
of your own exposed private pulse of aroused veins
and hips,
now a scorecard on mockery’s dartboard.
permanent as a mausoleum.
more and more and more, yes, more screens,
more and more screens,
screens more and more human than the people watching
the screens,
billions of eyeballs that flirt along,
swallowing to wallow and worship
the Airwave Octopus of the Hidden Cruel.
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The first line is a nod to "bread and circuses," an allusion in Juvenal's Satire X.
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