Thirteen year old girl squat
infront of the box,
eyes glued to what they want
her /to believe
/to love.

is the new faceless idol
more made up then his new girlfriend
to protect himself from the skincancerdeathflashes of th paparazzi.

The girl wants to be made up like they both are,
nag mommy and daddy for a new putrid pink plastic box
full of animal suffering.
They fold like seven-high.
And so next week the girl is porcelain,
Russian doll.
Open her, there is nothing but cold emptiness.

The doll she came from is, of course,
empty and expressionless as her.

And before that wasthe corporate machine,
a hideous effigy of this american daemon,
barely concealled, much the same as the previous dolls.

And the saddening thing is this,
the final shell isn't empty when
the TV and its girl was removed
for our examination; indeed, far from it.
Inside this hellish shell,
billions of TV dolls\

Each has its own little girl.