Giant whispering and coughing machines,But the Quietus shaped by thievesBroadcasts from a churchyard sleevedWith coats that serve as muscle:The wavebands glowing overpowerThe rabid storms of chording whereYour child hands clap against the air. Beautifully devout before a spentCascade of money … Continue reading Poetry Drawer: Broadcasting: This Glass of Water by Jim Bellamy