willing prisoners watching their animated cells,
they use their rusty canopener propaganda.
popping the top,pouring out individual free will,
pouring in the color, the size, the shape, the image they (we?) want...
need?
our retinas like sponges,
the stirring red liquid seeps and crawls to the top
our eyeballs float and bob in unison--
thirst? saturation?
either way, it's safer here in the pack...
conformity.
it is inevitable, like age, you know...



[i am sure i would hear a soothing hum in the static between stations]

NB @ 9:45 AM

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