No one is cold or dies anymore. 
No sad endings or mimesis. 

No educational value. 
Catharsis. We’ve embraced 

the Platonic state of denial so well, 
not even heaven is valuable. 

What can they sell us, then. Everything
in a bundle of sticks: a single channel 

that drones on. The sound restores 
both lobes of the brain, makes us beautiful,

too, alters the colors when we move 
our heads. Aren’t we also a screen,

the film on our eyes a blurry webbing 
of nerves and liquid. Stay calm. 

It’s passing. The world. 
The TV of the future knows exactly 

how to make us feel nothing:
Our hair blows and the beach is empty.