We are the coming together of a City after a National tragedy.
We are a healthy diagnosis after months of uneasy test results.
We are headlines of invisible ink on the last rites of a suicide contract pact.
We are cultured and only appear against pure light.
We are unconverted, yet a scientific type.
We collect dead skin on our faces and hoard it like lush confectionery.
We nudge the loudest products into every hollow box until blood shows.
We are always there/or bored/then always there/or bored
We require very little effort to maintain.
We are given cues. Happy/and or/cry, segregating based on faith and musical overture.
We are optional in 987 ways.
We are ten minutes of almost attraction, nose close to orgasm before we have to pray.
We are a ten second delay in case of a passionate live outburst.
We are a sponsored political party campaign, clicking past forming tumors.
We are falling asleep to us.
We are rinsed in electric dye and bad for our eyes.
We are a mass platform that says nothing anymore.
We are Television.
Dean Rhetoric is an unemployed former foundry worker who has recently relocated to London. He is a former BBC writer’s room finalist and has been published in Bunbury Magazine as well as Picaroon poetry.
He says things here https://twitter.com/dean_rhetoric
By the time you read this he’ll still be unemployed.