Lullaby
The frenetic signal lost from Luxembourg
at 0045 hours nightly, gave me time
to retune the transistor to the long
wave, ghost whining of empty air.
White mono earphone crackling
as a warm and soothing treacle prayer
sounded; a languid, liquid lullaby
“Plymouth, Biscay, Finisterre…”
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Recent Comments
| Maggie on Dudley and Eunice |
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| Peak 3 (Stillborn) |… on Alderley Edge |
| erroneouschoices on Brittle (for Greg) |
| hana on Succotash |
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