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I can feel them watching me,
bodiless and bloodied.
Leaving the dead
filled sockets
of KGB spies.
They roll with
a bob and a squelch,
through the streets,
or in the bath.
They do not care
for television
this sea of red eyes.
When I escape them
maybe... I will call you?
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Yeah this one confused me as well, I like the question marks on a purely selfish personal level they mapped the image nicely in my own head... although they probably make little sense to anyone else. This poem actually has very little to do with television or the big brother thing... It's more about some guy who's being harrassed by a massive sea of rolling eyes unfortunately I didn't think about it too much and it's probably not a very good poem but I love it, it's a map of an image I had when I woke up, I think I need to cut down on my surrealist literature. I read this before I went to bed last night... it's a 13th century poem translated by the surrealist Michel Leiri...
A large red herring
Had beseiged Gisors
On both sides
And two dead men
Came with great difficulty
Carrying a door
Without an old hunchback
Who went around crying 'A! outside'
The cry of a dead quail
Would have taken them with great difficulty
Underneath a felt hat.
