So they can be stacked!
like cups and plates, we can now more efficiently
eat the radiated fruit of capitalized art
drink the fizzling nectar of Clorox BrainBleach
and cleanse our impurities and harvest insecurities
in the media dishwasher, churning like
4 hungry stomachs of the hormonal Cow Beast, vomiting
soapy milk of pesticides to infuse the air.

Stacks upon stacks of televisions;
Will the top TV
feel the pea
at the bottom of the heap
after it has put us to sleep?
Will it marry the perfect princess
a sex-dressed vixen with vegetable nerves,
and will they eat the pea when they are done with it?

Will the egg-shaped pea
foreshadow the stacks of eggs
of this orgiastic mountain
of naked TVs, projecting images into each other’s
channels, the apertures of love
shall produce
television eggs, that’s the name of the game
and the name of the screen
but tell me, O clairvoyant projector,
will the eggs be green
like the organic pea that crafted their union?

The televisions answer in unison:
“We do not like green eggs and ham”

and so the goose lays golden eggs!
confiscated by lucrative incisions,
fleshless idolatry, yolkless anomaly
arranged into degrading dozens
packed into bumpy, non-bio-degradable cartons
and when they are plucked
and left alone to ponder their own gravity
they drop, crack up, and decorate the skillet
with the yellow serum of mutilated life.