Insofar as the corners of my room

Are not full of discarded and disregarded ephemera

(lego bionicles, bills and bad crime novels)

Then I can focus in on the very apposite sounds and voices coming out of the big screen, the only thing not caked in dust (which is because the electric field repels, not because I take special care).

And in this various claptrappery I see something dull and musty in otherwise brandished glitter.

That, in the dead, bored corners where nothing happens and the same old becomes the same new.

That's good enough, where nothing ever, static happens.

The wheels don't go round, or fuck them, they do, but not in the direction I voted for

That's the thing that crawls up your spine and smiles over your shoulder; to which you defer.

Dog's bums and cat's arses.

Are all you see, when you're following cats and dogs.

Well done me, finished that one off