Me in my mirror, mirror 
A ghoulish sight.

Awkward skulk 
'A clay face'
As my nose says 
'A dog snout'
As my eyes would say

Skin like a shelter
For bacterial catacombs
Rising up from under like undead

Screaming inside
I press my face into the right morph
Re-bend the crooked nose
Self-correct the bloated chin
I layer on more clay, then
Mold it again.
Re-mold some more.
Slice some off; 
what am I now?

"Pretty." an ideal voice says 

*******,
My eyes are tired from staring
"They aren't lasers"
I tell myself
"They can't surgically correct you"

And So 
goes another night.

What a fix to be stuck on

A sea of remotes 
Controlling their channels
(Channels really know
How to pull people in.
But not me. I just watch news.)

Piles and piles and stacks 
Of remotes
Mangled up in cords 
Around the main event:
The TV.

Back to that pile of remotes -
All different kinds & controls
There's a pink one
With polka dots or chicken pox
There's a swampy soggy one
A grey tomb-stony one
Etc., and whatnots

What to do with all them?
Control the tube, of course,
But they all do that
A little bit differently.

"To hell with this white noise"

I ****** up a chrome looking remote
Soapstone it wasn't
But cold cold cold still
I pressed the red button near the front
Blinked it didn't 
But got stuck.
I just stared in frustration
For a long while, into that fuzzy screen.

And then
Out of the white noise
A gigantic chrome razor-hand
Came crashing through

Pulling me in.

The American dream
My childhood dream
What I've been told to expect
My whole entire life 

American dreams
Scream.
Many separate teams 
Tug-o-warring with
Dreams
Childhood dreams

Fading gleams
Glimmers of light
Blocked out by a fake black sun
Hanging on a string
Dreams; deferred 
It just can't be all a lie-
 
But,
The cake is a lie
The cakeis a lie
The cake is a lie
The cake is a lie.

Poked & prodded at
Everyday Everyday Everyday
I walk outside naked regularly
(The only one, too)
A shady pornstar they've 
Made me out to be
Every corner of flesh, Every corner of flesh
It's indecent to be clothed.

Spread open my legs to
A gaggle of flashing camera bulbs. 
Express critique
Save a pic
Jot down notes 
'Move it, kid.'

Spread open my legs to
A pod of alien queens
Scalpel wrenches, protozoan logs 
I'm the life of the party
As their oval heads crowd around
My *** things

Experimented-on weird-o's meander
The halls of this wherever-I-am

Free to leave at last
I sometimes go home after
A day of that
And do an odd thing:

I cocoon myself in blankets
And sleep for long stretches of time.

there must have been
a gas leak
or some drug in my drink

I think
but nothing comes to me
what shall I do all day?
gawky morbidity; decay
on this sticky hot sofa
an idiot sits like a rock

blocked and sterilized
I just can't seem to figure it
'move one leg,
at a time'

but it's like I'm laying on a big gob
of pink bubblegum
and I've nowhere to run

the cushions, the cushions
comfy & yet
closing in on me
what the hell,
am I crazy?

In the dark in the room
Whistles faintly echo
Up to my room
"Who's in this house?"

And the dread settles in
A bag full of lead
I can't move
And for some reason
I think the whistling can see me in here

Skritch-scratch under the door
Total paralysis still -
Maybe, I shall pretend to snore?

Two red jewel eyes
Materialize
At the foot of this bed
This
Is absurd!
I can't even mouth a word!

Climbing ontop of me
The mare opens his jaws
To a dead TV channel
That sounds like bee-wings
Just about suffocated by fright

Then it all ends 
Hard heavy anvil feelings
And all I keep with me is the dread

drones
wrapped up in the expansive botnet
of this black facility
prone to
repeat all of last week's protocol
in sequence
and without passion
(the big guy enforces it all)

I'm bored

eye-scanner rejects me twice
fingerprint authentication
prove who I am
beat that proof into the day
a cup of Joe at lunch
half crop-circles under these eyes
yet
you'll still hear me say

I'm bored.

the beat goes on, the beat goes on
the singsong klak-ing of
whatever whatever
a beautiful voice comes over the speakers
ironic
she's the only one talking
and it's a pamphlet talk
about where we all already work.

I'm bored.