Radio

Everyone is crawling away from the radio. It broadcasts what they don't want to hear. Noise. Tin cans rattling. Skies breaking apart under the pressure of God's forehead. A lemon being slowly squeezed by a torturer. Phlegm. A chocolate cake being sliced into unequal slices at an unhappy birthday party ruined by a pony trampling over the presents and a deadbeat dad showing up with a stripper and an inappropriate gift, a case of Miller Lite. Coughing that won't stop. Everywhere they go, though, the speakers follow. Across deserts without neon or any shade of humanity. Over mountains people have already climbed and are now safe for tourist consumption. Through walls after learning the lessons of ghosts. In basements where lazy twenty year old bachelors hug the covers more tightly to themselves and change the channels over and over, until even their dried out eyes feel like bursting. Every place is filled with sound. Glass not cracking, but about to crack. Teeth preparing to grind. Orchestras tuning up, their last miserable instruments hitting bad notes. Heads going boom-boom-boom. Aircraft and bombs. Silence after the pin is dropped, as people try to get out of the way.