Broadcasting

            BROADCASTING

            Giant whispering and coughing machines,
            But the Quietus shaped by thieves
            Broadcasts from a churchyard sleeved
            With coats that serve as muscle:
            The wavebands glowing overpower
            The rabid storms of chording where
            Your child hands clap against the air.

            Beautifully devout before a spent
            Cascade of money pours from out
            A vast resettling of drums. Thence
            Begins the mental struggles of arcane
            Girls, who may not dance upon a floor
            Nor faces inside faces prick music.

            Vast Sundays and organ-frowned spaces
            Leave dark emptied trees behind
            Seas, where sotto voce tames the race
            Of gaoled men; and the sureness of
            Faith will dive into the bays and quays
            Which seem too straight or still-born.

            The light of rock attunes to sound
            But this noise contests the altar-lit
            Grounds of life’s lurch, groomed with
            Minds which govern sadness from ground
            Teas, but still the coffees of the earth
            Grind to dust the magmas of bent birth.