Lately afflicted with dross static cling,
I have begun listening to Silent Radio.
Elongated early morning hours are spent
tuning across bands, catching voice blips
broadcast from WDOA in New Orleans,
WWAR in Los Angeles, and KLAN from Montgomery.
An enlightened driver listens to Silent Radio.
Along my way to Reno I pass a jogger with
a walkman and a khaki backpack. He sloshes
through puddles of roadside dust like a
one-hump camel running in a swamp.
Silent Radio crackles with the best talk shows;
WSEX is the most popular on the charts, they say.
Who says? WDWI in Pawhuska, Oklahoma.
Not everyone appreciates Silent Radio;
Politicians still listen to imitations.
The reality of Silent Radio is so compelling,
the fidelity so complete, the sound so immediate,
the signal so strong, everywhere…
I don’t see how anyone could think that the old fashioned existential media
has a chance in hell of surviving.
February 28, 2009
Poetry