TV Poetry
When the walls crawl with fat tv images born from the sprawl of all the rural chaos creeping out of the sap of distended trees that curse in honey chive micro-biotic symbols of corroded mourning doves who refuse to learn any new laments based off the rise and forever fall of lost empires which forget the pylons of time and space and instead move through a cryogenic stateless rebate from the mute teller of the pizza based financial institution that remade itself into a balloon animal factory where every balloon is filled with laughing gas that will make you wait to change the channel.
Yours in televised poetry,
Count Robot
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