static

static out of an unplugged radio: secret transmissions from beyond and between the sockets of yr navel and yr spine, yearning squirming joyous sounds twisting through all yr mess of inner circuitry, through all yr mess of me and my eyelashes on yr shoulder blades.

out with the old and in with the new, and in with more old and worn at the edges, too.

these things get trapped in the humid air, dissipate in the winds off the lake, before they ever hit paper or memory.

at work, on stand-by, i eat so many french fries my stomach hurts and i stagger woozily past security, brushing potato crumbs from my lips.