Friday, March 27, 2009

TC: Radio

The Radio Galaxy Cygnus A

At the end of the long day the Midnight Flower
Falls apart
Sundown russet supernova
Go slow
Don't hurt the radio for
Against all
Solid testimony machines
Have feelings
Brush past it lightly
With a fine regard
For allowing its molecules
To remain 100% intact
Machines can think like Wittgenstein
And the radio’s a machine
Thinking softly to itself
Of the Midnight Flower
As her tawny parts unfold
In slow motion the boat
Rocks on the ocean
In the song on the radio
As her tawny parts unfold
The radio does something mental
To itself singingly
As her tawny parts unfold
Inside its wires
And steal away its heart
Two minutes after eleven
The color dream communicates itself
The ink falls on the paper as if magically
Deep in the radio
The radio says
The markets go up The markets go down
The radio fears foul play
It turns impersonal
A piggy bank was smashed
A victim was found naked
Radio how can you tell me this
In such a chipper tone
Come in Kokomo Topeka Cucamonga
Radio when I am alone
I know what there is to know
Only because you have wished it so
Your structure of voices is a friend
The best kind
The kind one can turn on or off
Whenever one wants to
But turning you off is wrong I know
For you will intensely to continue
And in a deeper way that is the reverse
Of the idea of choice
You do
You exist in a way that is independent of me
You pick up
Remote signals from Radio Galaxy Cygnus A
Six million light years away
The brightest radio source in the sky
Hours go by
Heaven must be like this
For as her tawny parts unfold
Sundown gasps its old Ray Charles 45 of Georgia
Only through your voice

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