Its grainy hugeness poses questions
its bright striations lull.
Huge, aged television, guard my mother.
Lullaby her, light her lids.
Bright TV flesh,
warm and wash her own.
Its convex brooding weights the room
its static ululations soothe -
Let winter's isolation blur
towards soft blue angel light;
shield her from waning incandescence and
Let us know loneliness as peace
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