Cathode Haze

There is a drone in my living room

at this moment, it sits darkly
waiting, watching with a big glass eye

My wife, when she drinks too much wine

covers it with towels
because she is strange and intuitively subversive

Beyond the dark, reflective lens

is an evil brain, a will
so devious, so insidious

A rational man will empty his wallet in worship

But the beast is turned on
so I grip the arms of my easy chair and moan

this is not an environment conducive to verse

This is the sepulcher of dreams
where children surrender

and mothers smile through tears

Look, your father pushes buttons
becoming nothing, like an automaton

so his head might be filled

With empty pleasure, sung like madrigals
from the ritual of cathode haze

But this is not a benevolent grace