The alcohol spewed from the faucet into its waiting mouth
The habit dripped down the tongue, into the system, into everything –
It sat slumped on the sagging, smudged sofa before the screen of images.
They blended, melted, morphed; they spoke in whispers and yells,
Saying everything and nothing, capturing the world’s indolent attention.
With TV Dinners and vague eyes, it slurped and sucked, feasting
On First World privileges, intoxications and saturated entertainment.
The days bleed together, the same old routine.
Work to live, live to work?
Money, money, money –
It walks to the bank, neck stretched up, back straight, chest out.
Does it look happy? Does it look content? Does it look like it wants more,
More, more, more?
It clutches the precious envelope that holds the plastic, papery glue
Of living – we are driven by the virtual importance of the dollar.
Captured in a cage,
The supermarket shines in its whiteness, the products so bright they blind.
We drag our feet, and it follows, pushing its trolley around, around.
The bottles of modified water, the brands of chips, the hierarchy of pet food.
It piles up, cans and vegetables, plastic packages and dairy goods;
The wheels of the trolley whine against the weight, and we glide
Slowly towards the robots we feed our money to.
Into personal or plastic shopping bags, each one a burden,
The system of every day living,
The need, the want.
It sits before its computer, watching naked bodies move,
Slimy seals on beds, kitchen benches, floors, the woman open like a door
Made just for a wooden man to enter.
He think it’s real. It’s not.
It doesn’t know. It watches, rubs, yanks, oozes, groans.
It wipes its sweaty palms on unzipped jeans and reaches for the tissues.
On the screen the woman with her fake breasts moans like she enjoys it.
It watches even though it’s finished.
It wishes for sex like that.
The wonderment, the surreality of it.
Beside the road, a billboard lights up with advertisements for safe driving;
But it’s so much cooler to drink and drive.
It speeds down the freeways, music pumping, pink dice bouncing,
Personalised nameplate reading KttyK8t.
The mainstream junk pounds through the car, washing over its pink car seats
And the candy air freshener.
Because we all want a car that smells like fairy floss.
It flies along, past a quiet family of five,
And barely notices the near miss of an accident, or the siren.
People, it, them, he, she, we stumble through the haze of intoxicating technology,
The feed of information traveling around, connecting and disconnecting,
And we sit still and think of nothing, letting it numb us away, away
Until we can sleep.
We do it all again.
Open up facebook, and pretend that’s real friendship,
Vital to the daily process of living.
We drink and vomit, again, tomorrow, every weekend.
We suck toxins into our lungs and wonder why we die too young.
We’re already dying.
We breathe in plastic air.
We live, but it’s wasting.
We wade through rooms of desirable things, things we’re taught to desire.
We walk down the aisle of products and dreams.
We eat. We watch. We seek.
Is meant to be everywhere.
I cannot see,
I cannot see at all.