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Reading of the poem "Mr Rogers is dead" by Avram Ohm

It was the kind of morning
that sticks in your consciousness
like your first kiss or your first taste
of Dubble Bubble
whichever came first


Out door
Turn right
Trespass across lawn
Avoid dog


Check - Check - Check - Check


How can I hate math, but love the teacher?
1 + 1 is definitely 2
if we're talking us
Know what I mean?
That's all the math I need, brother.


Too much noise
Too many colors
Too much information
Too many Lilliputians tieing this old Gulliver
down


I hate life because today I know that
just as with my dead turtle from
two years ago
there is no hope of salvation, of deliverance

The TV box is empty
the screen bleeding pixellated tears of
carmine
This world will never ever be the same again


Mr Rogers is dead

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