We like to model out series of tubes and wires
By the ritual fire in front of us,
Enlivened by televised fantasies—
A blind voyeurism we all can get off on.
Even though they hold one another
They are at a distance ‘tween cushion and screen
Only spectacle can traverse:
And in that space, what interference can be picked up?
They lament, he is no Jim to my Pam,
No Ross to my Rachel, no Minny to my Mickey
Even as they open the much anticipated
Season finale—will it be a Hollywood ending
Or a cliff-hanger till season two?
They find themselves, casting rotten tomatoes
From the battlements of Magic Kingdom,
At the couch where dispassionate kisses can be found
Scattered like candy wrappers, uninspired scenes
And derivative dialog, throughout our series—
This is not why they watch themselves,
To be bored of the mechanical nature
Of the tunnels, cathodes, an unmagical pathways
Running tightly, quickly through the human body
Guided by natural false promises and selfishness,
In alternating currents in solid state
Afforded by code, by the same of ticker tapes
And DNA and theatrics
For others to binge on jealously and make love to
Until their own lives come into view
And pose the question:
“Are you still watching?”