Channelling.

Wellies on,
cos
the telly's on,
wading
through bullshit,
in a bedsit,
to reach the remote
and turn off
the scrote,
babbling,
jabbing,
jaw grabbing
jabber jaws
The hammer scores
a direct hit,
as I champ
at the bit,
square box
explodes
with a squawk,
and I'm goaded
into action,
no longer redacted,
reduced
or contracted,
easily contacted
contract killer,
of a Ted Bundy
three part instalment
afternoon
thriller.