About times when four hours of Netflix
isn’t enough. Ellen and Jimmy,
go to and fro. YouTubers follow up after a munch of
munchkin…on my bed. I—am the product
of zombie world. Eyes staring in blackhole,
sucking you away, temptation—
Dancing on daft punk—trying to be harder, better, faster
stronger. Trying, only trying. Wondering where’s it’s going,
this poem.
Just do me a favor, you reader…
Don’t think too much,
there isn’t
to think too much.
Just anxiety,
frustration. Go away, run.
I am not a belieber but,
I enjoy him surprising fans..
I…I am not related to grey hound,
but I take their tours.
Silly silly me.
Did you see the cheese trap,
basically, awkward shots. I—I am not interested.
I am not complaining—nah. Michael Jackson,
stood up to racism—Malcolm X.
Why all is well yet not well, mash up of
confusion and helplessness…can you sing me one?
I have to go…
I—I can’t focus.
It’s blurry, why is it blurry?
Oh my glasses, the third time since morning,
trash it trash it.
Stay alert. Beware. Your brain,
it’s losing, losing it’s originality.
You are doomed.
You are done.


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