Designer Radios

Press the button of the cloud.
It’s song a rusty truck
blaring absinthe green, Lautrec.

Press the button of her hand.
Finesse the station.
Who is talking?

A tree has its own buttons
that are not leaves.
Hairs press the breeze.

Record our singing.
Fast forward, reverse.
Pause the season.

If you must
control sound,
choose a CD.

Or play it real-time,
radio. Dial in.
Press me.

Even sky scrapers respond to touch.
The street has its own song
Inside your loafered feet.

Who or what
Presses what or whom?
How plays the dream?

in response to Les Barta’s photo construction, exhibited at the CACE Gallery of Fine Art in Spring 2015:
Designer Radios Image

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