I crackle
at the edge
of sleep
cross
tuned
like a
radio
whose wires
feed off
local air
but heart
is set
on Vladivostock.
You.
How is
your head tonight?
Is your hair
pinned up
in silver clips
or a storm
of cranky ions
and filaments.
New: 13 December, 1996 | Now: 22 April, 2015