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With the TV on
And no-one home
Does it matter that
We’re all alone
With the dramas and
The lives of those
We’d wish to be or
Are glad we aren’t
To dip in and out
Of colours loud
Where death rings tears
And heroes bleed
But we’ll see them all
Again next time
In costumes grand
Or just like those
That reflect our lot
In kitchens where
Machines that feed us
Ping lap-top sustenance
Remind us of the
Lives that we could lead
Behind the screen
That hums and moves
In steps more constant
Than our own or those
That move our hearts to bleed
Or cry out in our heads
For the credits to roll
Once more.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020