* * *
The Aspens are so beautiful
they do not understand anything I said.
— Wong May
Before there were radios there was still blue
static. I love static, the hiss-scrunch
of all those other worlds I can’t get to.
Before there were machines that let us punch
a hole in the ice sky no one listened
to static’s song. “The sky is not a roof.”
Static is not a fist. Language deafened
us to the mysteries of static. Soundproof
language. It’s not violence that I’m after.
But pain does take me to where I forget
everything. The first time I cut myself
I turned — was amazed that such a vulgar
noise could sing so lovely. Do not regret
language; just listen to the song itself.