Long Range Ghosts
I invented telepathy and darker webs as a tween. We were poor, bu’ we spliced magic radios from snipped guitar strings’n secret bloody things. Uncured, we’d curse’n curl hands to sky t’demand friends foreign’n fly, tongues of Angels or lovelier Lie. Bu’ we switched channel t’hate, stored’n tiny transistors. Faux static, come fux and fix me up w’Fate.