The Sin of Electricity, #55

Turn me on. I can display
whatever mood best suits you,
that disguise which best conforms
to your current conjecture,
your recent needs, but don’t ask me
what I actually think, my
true opinion, because trust
me, the voices holding court
in my head, congress of nouns
and colorful adjectives
won’t enhance this discussion.

Turn me on. I’m not much more
than a tired sitcom trick,
gimmick in the truest sense.
The voiceover in our talk,
let’s assume it’s sarcastic
and witty and in a sense,
charming. You’ll like me that way,
if you think I’m nice, even
the jaded, somewhat secret
side of me. Let’s hope I’m not

driving down the interstate
imagining what angle
one would have to hit a car
to twist them across the line,
turning them into other
travelers on loan from far
off states, causing a pile
up spread into oncoming
traffic, while I disappear
into the distance, carnage
in the rearview. Let’s just hope

the pen in my hand remains
an implement to jot down
info you could easily
retrieve with seven seconds
of effort and a smidgen
of responsibility,
rather than a dark ninja’s
secret implement hidden
inside the folds of my clothes
and with one swift strike I don’t
mix blood and ink. Let’s just say

I’m simple, through and through, nice
right down to the bone, not a
violent tendency inside
me. It’s easier that way,
you can guess getting a rise
out of me, or walking round
like we all are characters
in your video game life,
brings no pain, illicits no
consequence that cannot be
allayed by hitting reset.

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Author:

A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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