This poem is taken from Stand 222, 17(2) May - June 2019.

Timothy Houghton Three Poems
Voices Through Static


I’m leaning my ear
to voices of distant peoples
in mountains of Appalachia. They don’t seem
of this earth—like crackling broadcasts
of ‘30s science fiction: urgent tones;    
even rare laughter    turns into shrapnel.
Raise the volume
and clarity gets worse—so I turn it down a bit
to think about it    on my way to Rabun Gap.
Nuclear war might sound like this.
I bend my neck to emergencies
spitted out in disconnected syllables—
then cryptic numbers    concerning
what might be
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