RADIO-FREE II

Fixed and spinning. In the dream, you hover high above us, air and glassy bite of ice,
Radiation rushing static through your mind. Another moment, and you're out of it.
Empty transceiver. Flicker fast and shapes arising-- nightmare clouds, the cartoon
Quarrel. Fidelity or cycle, the red or scrolling (these aren't your words).
Upon what is more important: not the speech itself, but its idea; not the
Essentiality of logic but its cadence. You go again; you try to make it fit.
Next undercover, rate of vibration: the neat, the nowhere now. This oscillation. Waves pulse
Clean against your body, writing sound across your skin. You: transistor. You are
Your own maker. This transcriber: unhappy midnights, missing kin.


acrostics