I murdered my television with a twelve-gauge shotgun and
called it a sacrifice
I called it justice and then
someone called the police
after a few days of questioning and solitary confinement
they let me go
with the promise that I would
purchase another television set
and I did
bigger, better, more expensive than the last
with high definition and surround sound
I fell to my knees in divine worship
because no matter how many times I kill the fucking thing
I always crawl back to it on my knees
picking up the pieces and
begging for more programming as
I plug myself back in
it’s all just a matter of wasted time and static
the church of the cathode ray cares not about your convictions
no amount of words can change that
I can dice it up any way I want to
here, there
in your crummy paper
or in a book
because everything looks the same in the ether and
shitty poetry will never do it justice
life is a series of mundane events and rituals
which you choose to take notice of is your own business
it may be only a finite number of times that you haul the trash to the curb
or watch a favorite TV show
and that’s it
no amount of contrived nihilism changes the fact that
we all waste our lives on meaningless shit
trying to dull the agony of existence
with situation comedies and forensic dramas
and reality programming
the goddamned television will still be there
long after we are gone
waiting for the next species to make it God
