Every Brain Is Wired

Inspiration from Every Home Is Wired and Radioactive Toy by Porcupine Tree.

The alarm shock wave wakes me

I thought I saw my wife but no

The chip in my brain activates

Invisible strings get me on my feet.

In the shower, I recall last night’s dream

Wasn’t sweet, nor a nightmare

Instead, a timetable of today’s routine

My cortex in a cage, lump in throat.

A set of prison clothes

And the tatters of my wife’s scarf

(The only thing that I managed to salvage)

What color should I wear: black or white?

I let the electronics elect.

The cold breakfast is a little bitter

The pack reads “Amber Waffles” but

My tongue screams amphetamines

A curse in my mouth, lump in throat.

I almost say “Honey, I’m off to work!”

Before remembering that I live alone

In the company of spiders of course

Because every wall is bugged.

The winter air is a little dusty

The signs say it’s pure but

My lungs somehow don’t agree

A weight in my chest, lump in throat.

I see the arrest (assault) of an abberrant

My emotional overrides force a smile

“Don’t worry, we can be pals

After your lobotomy.”

My ears glitch to hear a cricket’s tune

Pardon me, it was only my Geiger

A virus called nostalgia just quarantined (quelled)

A song stuck, lump in throat.

A queue (quarrel) for a solitary ray of sun

We lost the ozone skyline but

We have the blinds of mushroom clouds

That’s the government’s explanation (excuse).

The city looks so different from a distance

Factories as far as the fog (smog) goes

There’s no room for your castles

Imagination ignored, lump in throat.

I enter the hive

An interwoven web of zombies

A conveyor belt of babies

My labor is to label them for life.

Slave, Soldier and Sadist to the terminal

Musician, Marxist and Mother to the trash

Programmers hardwire their new future

Conscience on the collapse, lump in throat.

I almost say “Honey I’m back!”

Before remembering the raid

By the courtesy of snakes of course

Because every house was wiped.

Suddenly, the sofa’s a gurney

Heading to the TV for my

Recreative cranial reformative surgery

The signals are the scalpels

Avant-garde music is the anesthesia.

I break free from the straps

Security on red alert

All the filters and the barriers bypassed

I’m taken back at least 30 years.

I stumble to my wardrobe

There lie the tatters of my wife’s scarf

(The only thing that managed to bear the ravage)

Only it deserves to become my noose

My heart in my throat, a lump in my throat.

Honey, I’m finally coming to you

Prepare the kids to brace for a surprise

Your voice is fading in and out of focus

Just hit the killswitch

Hanna, just pull the plug please.

. . . . .

The defibrillator shock wave wakes me

I thought I saw my wife but no

The failsafe in my brain had kicked in

I should’ve known that

Every brain is wired.

———-

sitting-close-tv-bad-eyes-orig

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