Sunday, May 13, 2012

Except For The Simpsons

Soft like a dream or kisses from an angel. 
Gentle breezes and complex whispers buttoning my caresses so that I could face the day. 
Then the walk was over and I faced the snarling reality of 
What should have been home and hearth.
Only my fantasies could protect me now. 
Feed them the pulsating rock music, or tickle them with a novel. 
Or sedate them with television. 
You accursed box, dulling my mind since early childhood. 
Telling me your feeble stories, refusing to challenge me or ask me even the simplest questions. You great pacifier. 
You ugly menace to society. 
You purveyor of indelicate lies and trodden hopes. 
Death of the mind your spawn. 
I shouldn’t have had you as a lover. 
But we all risk it.

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