大象传媒

As night grew into itself disembodied voices
ganged. Spectral sound-smudges fed a giddy
unease. A breeze of chattering ether. Sense hanging
on for dear life. Messages from beyond baffle speech.
Muffled butterfly wings mob my throat and ears.
I falter softly falling back into all my yesteryears.

The after-dark alchemical lab squatted stubborn in our
childhood bedroom conjugating wood with metal with
scrying glass with tubular valves brewing Babel-babble
birthing unearthly arias. Ur sonatas. The living and the
dead speaking in tongues. Snatches of sing-a-longings.
Torch songs. Verbal scrimshaw hitching radio waves.

In the scrum Johnny Glossolalia was nudging Auntie Beeb
off her cut-glass perch. Mouth-marbles shattered.
Over there was coming over here. Abroad boarded our
shores. We sailed our aural boat beyond the Ribble river
Irish sea to places never heard of. Never trod. The fine-tuning
twist of knobs steepled with other voices. Peoples. Worlds.