Chuck Stebelton


The circuitry is still a primitive

crystal set at best. Fall like sweet
train, autumn soon come. Conch

easily conquers on. My meridian
autumns thirsting springs. Quench
staccato timing as sands and so

are the days. It is harder to shoe
you than to hurt you. I touch static
in the crisps of flies by the picture
window's sill. It is a huge outdoors.

The wind does not develop tissue.
I clip coupons in order that I show
turgid willows the trust of money.

In order to transcribe this silent
a jar held secret in day, today

I hold back my diatribe on radio.



Once upon a time, there was cash, and there were S&H Green Stamps. In earlier versions of this story, my opinion of radio was evident in memories, wind, philatelics, gem tactics, and ash. This is the final retelling, the last time I hold back my diatribe in jacket copy.