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Description
At two in the morning,
The night is fluorescent.
I am not quite asleep on the old,
Raggedy couch,
Being lulled by the mechanic rhythm of the dishwasher
and the electric specks of color that the muted television
throws across my eyes as mute politicians
scream silently
about something I neither care about
nor agree with.

I change the Channel.
The crazy man in his silk suit
Is gorgeous.
He is waving his hands
Frantically,
Soundlessly ranting
About life,
Brimstone, fire,
and God.
His blonde hair dangles
around his head.
Perhaps he is an angel.

I change the channel.
The mud is flying
And bullets are whizzing
in slow motion.
The action hero hurdles the weak
And tramples the dead.
He has never seen war,
In the mansion in Hollywood.
He has never fired a gun.
He has never killed a man.
Not really.

Another channel
and another arrangement of
illuminated dots show
a teenager.
Running
Screaming,
Tripping.
Heels and miniskirts are
Not sufficient attire to outrun
A man with a chainsaw.
Stupid girl.
I stay to watch her run in the house.
And up the stairs.
And in the closet.
Genius.

Another station.
The lion is creeping through the grass.
The antelope doesn't move.
The lion pounces.
Next station.
The lovers move closer
Together,
In sync.

Next station.
The girl is skipping.
The boy is laughing.
They are kissing
In the rain.

Back to the First channel.
Polititon's face is red.
I am going to hell.
Freedom isn't free,
Shadow in the corner of the screen,
Got to feed the cubs,
Weddings equal love.

It is two in the morning.
I am fully dressed
and not quite asleep
on the old raggedy couch,
in front of the T.V.
You are asleep in my bed.
Your dog is asleep in my lap.
The sound of the dishwasher's
Eternal, monotonous melody
Is lulling me to sleep.
Nothing matters.
The World is in Technicolor.
The night is fluorescent.