the piano
a deep baritone
and somewhere
the steady hum
of a television
i wake limbs
lethargic
from the magic
of a siesta
and he sings
my eyes heavy
my heart light
i stretch
languorously
the kettle hisses
the shapes
of the afternoon
the lilies cast
a shadow
the light changes
and the piano
touches
chords deep
in my body
places i had forgotten
memories of times
long ago, kisses
under the velvet
canopy of stars
so bright
and dancing
and laughing
of youth
carelessly spent
and smoky kisses
over the river
the sweet tea
brings me back
to now
the drone
of the television
back to mediocrity
and life
but he plays
and there are dreams

Downton Abbey’s going off the air.
I’m not through yet, it’s just not fair.
Nothing before that show ever had
That kind of class, that degree of flair.
Life without my weekly Downton
Is too sad and inordinately scary.
What will I do without my frequent fix
Of the elegantly snarky Lady Mary?

And will the feckless Mister Barrow
Ever develop a true human soul?
I am sure this handsome actor fellow
Will never again get such a meaty role.
And the Dowager Duchess herself,
She is not someone easily done with.
She is, after all, tradition incarnate,
And under all that, she’s Maggie Smith.

Bates and his Anna filled my heart
With alternating sorrow and great joy
Almost as much as a lady of nobility
Marrying the handsome chauffer boy.
Dresses and hair lengths shortened
And nobility began to get real jobs.
All this was before ****** flared up
And turned starving folks into a mob.
I never missed that we were seeing
The transition from ‘la belle epoque’.
That time was running out for that
In the worlds ever-changing clock.

It was a yesterday we never knew
We of the age of electric equality.
We got to look inside and see it
In all its grandly overdressed reality.
I had begun to recognize artwork, in
Lovely strolls through baronial halls
And huge family meals at table.
I am sorry that it is over for us all.

Day's last thoughts play
through the creases of my sleepy mind.
Questions pile like the flakes
on the sidewalks outside.
Square of purple light in my white wall,
                               painted night grey,
glimpse of snowfall--a buzzing, fuzzed-out
scrambled teleplay.

Through interference I'll slide
                                      eventually
          ­                                          down into
                                                     dreaming.
and change the program.
For now, the channel remains right here.
The Winter flickers 'cross my face.

And that window's purple
                              square is a small piece
of a tired world just trying to fall asleep;
A single view of a wider picture
that covers miles. Bends lines into a face.

Impulses race through a fading mind.
Snow is piling deeper
on the bike path outside.
Retrace my steps as eye lids close
                                over distance
Still that square glows--a buzzing, fuzzed-out
scrambled episode.

Through interference I'll slide
                                      eventually
          ­                                          down into
                                                     dreaming
behind the credits.
For now the channel remains right here.
Half-smile flickers 'cross my face.
A different place and some different ways
to transmit greetings across this space
and to broadcast all our withheld wishes
                                             would be fine.

                       But tomorrow I'll wake up.

             And these re-runs never stop.

And that window's purple
                              square is a small piece
of a tired world just trying to fall asleep;
A single snowy, interfered picture.
                   A half-formed question:
     Are you watching this same thing?

Divisions of the night
Each calculated the same
Staccatoed bursts of sound
At regular intervals
Random quotes stick in my brain
“Where is your favorite place to eat?”
Limp beanbags lobbed at remotes
in futile attempts to change reality.
Fake drama as one
non-sister complains to
another that she will tell
secrets to strangers but not to her family.
But I am no stranger
I follow her life hour after hour
Her fake life in exchange
for mine not lived
except in flickering shadows.
Another weekend wasted watching
lives of the inane and ridiculous
Which is still somehow better than
watching mine

Stare at a television for too long,
and you're sure to find it becomes a difficult task...
training your eyes to adjust to reality.

This crisp world morphs into a mirage,
seen through the revolver of a machine gun
infinitely strobing between what is and should.

Like a child trying to blink back tears that seem more like a tsunami.

The **** finally cracks.

Reminiscent of those summer days spent at the pool,
staring at the world through a rippling glass wall.

I've always been interested in new perspectives.

Movies. Shows. Clips.
I stare into screens that take me away.
My mind lapses & my mind begins to play.
Every day a screen steals my time.
A robber of thoughts, theft of the mind.

I committed ****** and I have bad news.
Columbo is on the case and that means I'll lose.
Columbo always catches people when ****** is the crime.
He always uses his skill as a detective but not this time.
I just went inside the Police Station and confessed that I'm guilty.
Columbo is hopping mad because he won't be able to catch me.
This cigar smoking cop is so mad that he's starting to shout.
A ****** was committed and he didn't get to figure it out.

My thoughts are jumbled
Like the static of a television
If I concentrated enough on him maybe I could find his channel
But he is colorful and brilliant
And I am trapped between the frenzied lines of isolation
Isolation from life, beauty, and individuality
Just because no one has taken it upon themselves to press power
Doesn't mean they want to watch
So I'll stay here
Always static, always still
Never to regain signal