Saturday Morning Cartoons

Carpets fibrous tendrils burrow deep 

within the malleable surface 

of my young thighs. 

Playing coy with my nerves, 

sending signals haywire, 

stripping me of focus, 

and drowning my peripheral 

into a pit of obscurity. 

Letting the Toshiba hum 

syncing with each nerve impulse. 

The whites of my eyes 

bathe in its CRT glaze, 

as wavelengths crash 

against the shores of my cerebrum. 

Letting my vision focus 

on the fascinating incoherence 

of one purple-masked turtle vigilante 

plunging his image down into the trench 

of my unnerving curiosity. 

The depths still beckoning 

for my continued exploration 

and I remain quick to dive 

Letting my subconscious grow pliable, 

with ramblings of scientific jargon. 

All tied neatly in a bow 

of incessant sharp wit. 

But has that carpet released its grasp? 

Will my nerves ever revert? 

Will I still swim after that purple fiction? 

I would sincerely hope so, 

I'm not out of air yet.