Joe Milford Hosts Elias Miller

Born with the breaking of metal and glass, I passed through an orifice like a TV screen Into the bright sheen of a media campaign Red white and blue red white and blue As I tumbled to the checkerboard floor in the hospital Where spin doctors picked me up and cooed “The truth. The truth. The truth,” they said, “Is that we love you, our sweet consumer.” Rumor has it my garden is full of terror plots Tilled by nimble fingers that linger over vulnerable power plants And spots where scant defense lines are scratched in dry soil. Hot days are spent rubbing oil beneath straw hats Buzzed by military flybys Spies are everywhere Terror is everywhere Blooming like white convolvulus, weaving its way into desert sands Abrams are jammed in a bad gag commute Hands, tied by ticker tape news, Outline the rise (and fall) of the price of crude, Imply democracy while others pay our rent. Let’s portray sporadic resistance (Turn your head and cough) Then in the distance the bombs go off And everyone bows down to our (fallen) monument. (Cue theme music) Five years on with my umbilical still attached I come back to TV for warmth, Your glow of digital manipulation. Mama mama mama Don’t abandon this child Stay with me stay with me stay with me Keep me awake, keep me abreast With news breaks and shakes of paranoia Amid earthquakes and floods and the falling stars Keep me safe in my shell Keep me safe in my shell Keep me safe in my shell.