Prime Time

blizzard
projected onto thin
glass,
separating man from
magic.

Hollywood to Suburbia in a flash of
unpredictable weather patterns rising from
unimaginable strength in so
few who call themselves

[static]

nothing; we give them their Identity,
stolen away from reality to
Soothe and Relieves our Sore, Aching
Psyche,
found bruised and battered in a field
just north of what used to be
a solid foundation for
A Nation, under antennas and cables.

Satellite dishes, like wishes, fall
from the sky into murky depths.

recovered, recycled, re-made,
sequel'ed, prequel'ed, marathon'ed,
left for dead in a cold warehouse
during the

blizzard
between the man and the magic.