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.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s