“everything oozes” (Sam Beckett again)

the silent tv

throw yourself over the side

be done with it

just now a withered husk of protoplasm 

dissolving memory.

Thought burgers

That’s more like it 

the hollow small village running society 

scorching up and down the fields 

                                                            Where, 

where can I find it ?

the truth is so many bubbles

So many bubbles only time will tell

the keys melt 

you and I, both  stowaways

Hitch hike at the turnpike 

ditch the autumn 

down frozen lanes 

Enter,  face to face at last.