Transmissions to Leo

Jay Moglia

Who’s manning the hoover damn?

Creeping the streets.

No voice on the radio.

Silent Starbucks line,

inappropriate tunes with the volume unadjustable.

Looking for a gap to shoot……

The sevens.

Deep in the hole. Locked down. Invisible. A phantom inside a void. Torrents with no sound.

The blast that can’t detonate.

STANO, any jingling of the wind chimes brother?

THE SEVENS at 17th and L.

It’s hard to reach that higher spiritual plane when we are ruled by images…………

….The vortex Stano. Compounded. Rising and falling. The existential crunch. Elusive domain. The Flintstone stomp. No way out. No problem. Bliss and despair. Diabolical and detonatable. Why do we play these games? I need more cowbell. A rambling shadow on a narrow ledge.

….scanning the orb/dusting the periscope and contemplating the coordinates, perusing the parameters and uncoiling the wires.

SEVEN SEVEN circling the runway at STRFCKS 14th and NY.

Keep centered my man. Run away from the light and run away from the dark. Skate skip and hurdle. Look toward the sky…….

Mobile

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