A computer voice
turns harsh degrees on Ts,
pronounces the world
just like a real man would,
a real person with a mouth and teeth and children –
The computer voice calls for
"Hose Dell You Gas"
but everyone is watching CNN, and cannot listen,
because Brad Pitt has Jury Duty, and
a monster truck has run over a crowd, and
a woman in Pennsylvania has strangled a rabid raccoon to death.
Jose Delugas is watching the grey squares of rug
beneath him, whose details blur away and return,
as a night sky, the roof of consciousness,
the TV is a running hum on the back of his neck,
and "Sex tapes of the Stars" sounds more to him
like the erotic mixture of gas, swaying in tune to the universe, far away,
than some blond-haired movie star
thrusting his pelvis.
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