honey television

i put my tongue out to feel the snow.
a hole in the ceiling says, "let's panic."
i give the hole a handful of change
as if it is a parking meter. 
my father tells me a story about
being a kid in the television. how it used to 
sing itself america & then blacks out all night. 
now the television never stop. he loves it.
he takes a broken lawn chair & opens it.
gets real real tan & drinks a diet coke
with lemon squeezed in it. 
i grab a spoon & feed myself
as much as i can. until the sugar makes
my teeth ring. until we are famous 
& cisgender. when i say cisgender i just mean
safe. i don't want anything to do with 
a cord. instead i take the television
everywhere i go. swaddle it. brush its hair.
even in the night when no one else
is breathing the television sits up 
in bed & thrums with all the bees.
i feel like sometimes i'm the only one 
who notices how thick & gelatinous 
the danger has gotten. i take my eyes out
& rub them on the television. rub them down
to bitten erasers. i just want to see
all the shiny unreachables. i just want
a car commercial in my lungs. 
my father gets too small to see 
in a mountain video illuminating the living room. 
i buy binoculars. sit only a nose away.
lose sight of him. put my hand to the round belly
of the machine. it does not let me in.
instead i have to wait until morning comes
& he crawls out for work. he always looks
like he's been caught when he emerges 
with me sitting there. he tells me,
"it's enough" but how could it be?