Stronger than the theater’s bass, more
fuzzed out than the old TV tube could muster,
this is how I hear you. Talking under
water or in hailstorm of stones and crows.
They said redundancy is good for radio,
so many signals get lost, and people
aren’t always listening close to the sounds
our words are making. Oh, Marconi,
I know you’re still out there keeping
an eye on me and her. You’re caught
in the rafters or in the half glued egg-
crate studio of some kid looping high-hats
louder that his parents plate-break and door-
slam. What songs and sons would we’ve
birthed into the charts and the stars.