To the Artist's Page To our home page
To Behlor Santi's next piece
The Radio The radio doesn't listen to you- but you listen to it. The world talks to you through internal machinery. Nirvana screams at you about teen spirit, and Etta James wants to make love to you. But you can't scream back. You can't caress. Heartbreak spreads inside your soul, like mustard gas. Your soul chokes. But enough of this depression. The radio is beautiful- smooth and black. It sits on your nightstand, close to your sleeping body. The internal machinery works like an computer-chip heart. The voices titillate like acceptable porn. You still listen, for any special report it might broadcast.
To the top of this page