The kettle clicks and you won’t

Get up because that next line on
Telly is in your mouth the cushion
Edge of your seat is dripping over
You’re almost in a yoga chair and
Somewhere vapour cools so you
Light a cigarette and smoke dances
Sweats the little coughs that sound
Like asking you reveal your brand
You move your eyes you call help
To get the kettle and change channel
And change and demand the same
Rewind remixed grainier than before
Your VHS screaming tapes a light
Blue-grey a colour just above hospitals
And if I touch anything it does not belong
To you so I hold my fingers close
As I listen to the world in your mouth or
The telly that glows on your face
Pales in the pale radiation another ad plays
To my silence lost in the glare of this smoke
Breathes my pores and I taste the line
Like almonds or snacks which sit salted
Beyond our reach

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