Commercials

The world is a cable box
with too many channels
and not enough doors.
I kept looking for the station
selling a life transplant
for this one that is clad in chains.

Kept asking myself where was the heart
that once beat to a sunrise’s drum,
felt the thunder in song,
heard the violins in violets
or the dance of a whirlwind’s flight.

It got lost between programs
where commercials were played
those stabbing snippet segments
offering glue for my shattered vases
where I kept those bouquets of roses,
which I expected to blossom someday.

On the floor are all the petals
shaped like teardrops.
Keep watching those advertisements
in hopes they will show
a cure for what vaporized in my visions
from all those sitcom ending
that never happened as I thought.

All I see now are the reruns
replaying those episodes
with characters I want to forget,
those comedians who became vampires
who drained me of my pulse.

I’ll just going to keep on watching
because somewhere I still believe
there will be a locksmith’s program
having a master key to my cell.