Coming upon the supposed realism of the place
in all it's artificial glory - shining like polished plastic

Where in the glass cage; them without eyes sit, motionless
& tapping on the base of the spine - handing judgment
shouting their mad disease into the air

In the contamination of the surrounding, nameless faces
barking out for what they think they need

They scream for food, food, food!

Food and the televised delivery of words
the milky film of burned retinas
staring out as if it see anything shining with the famous names
& the electric screens all around, reinforcing their stride

& fatten them with words

Mothers, fathers and children - all young
misplaced and arguing painfully
about who is where - how they are - & acting

No relief from the bombardment
& stark reality of those people
glossing over magazine covers - top row - never bottom
& system of image delivery

Serving only in the false world
where all is hideously pretty & cold