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The Country Radio

Lying silent In a wheezing chest of words Divining whirred messagings Of a moth’s wings blurred Paralysed beneath the duvet Hearing his antenna morse Rapid flapping mind verse The country radio Tuning from Earl Scruggs to beetles Munching oak flecks Blind above my head flesh Creaks like floorboards Spine is peeled Breathes the walls Listens to A record playing Whose scratch revolves in ragged time.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2024




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