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Demon Radio
Embroiled in
Pre-dawn delusions
Assuming the
Cloud covered moon is
Destroying its symbolism
For my own amusement
As the parking lot becomes
Mystical, enlightened
Full of
Ambient apparitions
Of the eternal type
With the coyotes barking
And my
Inner self yawning
I see an old radio
Centered in the prosaic grass
I am told I must
Change the station
I am afraid to touch it
Even if the angel Gabriel came
To force my hand
I would scream like a
Ferrell cat
And
Dance like a madman
Like the saint known as the
Fool of Christ
Drunken, with glass in hand
Fooling the townspeople
With disguised piety
Hidden within his hermitage
Back to the
Vision of an
Old radio
Against my own fear
I turn it on and
Tune it to the first station
I can hear an old man
With a
1920's type
Radio host's accent
Like Pathe news
All over again
In wartime England
And in his dialogue
Thru a slight crackle
I can hear him disclose my
Location
To what I assume to be
A company of demons
Yes, this is a predicament
Too long and
Exhaustive for a
Simple poem
Tune in for the
Next installment...
Copyright ©
John Severino
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