Writings by Thomas Radwick. Mostly poetry and lyrics. t_radwick@yahoo.com

The Buzz

Tom Calm
smells a con
in all the tangled signals

twitching in the wind
twisting through his skin

and stranding him in the street
with a bleeping blinking phone.

In a city.
Not a tree
in sight.

But we all fall
like leaves
soon—

so let’s BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
in a great big room

alone with a glowing screen
sending messages:

I’m not feeling super okay today.
Call me when you get here tomorrow.


So does Tom Calm
hear a hum beyond
this nervous wind?

a magnetic murmur
so basic it buzzes us
into a party

more rumbling and deeper
than BOOM? (listen)



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