Sestina’s Radio

My left speaker falsifies me, crackles, hisses, clichéd toad. I turn my right speaker to you. Surf wax fills the air, wave tubes squeezed tight. An unreal bird sings, pierces my ear with a ring, and to my radio welds me, night’s station holding tight, while in the surf singing toads fill the ringing airContinue reading “Sestina’s Radio”