February Poem 22/28
Radioland
Whales kiss rocks in the river
While they try to drown out the radical streams
Wishing wells have all been cleared out by
Washed up stars chasing some analog dreams
I'm kept in lo fidelity
With a high-strung host
Good listening in a traffic jam
Or if you're smelling burnt toast
I still dream of the days when the air was rhetoric free
Nowadays, they try to charge for that- you won't get a cent from me
Oblique Strategy of the day: Think of the radio