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The All Night Radio
She keeps it on
the switch in her head,
the all night radio.
Silent lips are slowly moving
persistent idea clouds of blue-green/purplish-red,
the all night radio.
Tuned into/on to a much broader band
encircling the sighing world, then reaching their
finger-like frequencies to a far far more ancient land,
the all night radio.
She cannot turn it off,
its a series of successive feathered caps
interchangeable/color-filled that she doffs,
she doesn't care if the world understands,
laughs, dis-believes or scoffs in
the all night radio.
There
she lies in a seemingly vacant state.
Beyond earth-bound care and peopled hates.
In a steely bed, sheeted, nearly a human paper weight,
listening to the all night radio.
Tethered to strings and talking machines,
not quite alive, not quite anything,
she listens very carefully
to the comfort and the constant sea
that is
her constant company,
the all night radio.
October 24, 2011 All Rights Reserved By Author
Waking up with this circulating in my head.
Melissa A Howells//// Meloo of Tilt-a-World
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