press 1 ’cause that’s
where you put your favorite bands,
modulated frequencies coasting
as you cruise
over the fresh oil and
the turtle on its back
tiger lilies lining the runway,
aimed at some destination–
like David’s stone, it hits you
right between the eyes

and yet, there is no coherence,
just the drumbeat of the
cosmic public radio
vying for your sensate self–
you hear a tuba swell then
“we could of had it all” then
static sizzling in stereo
on and on and on and on and
recursive (turtles all the way down)
playing, for no one in particular,
a sound inchoate,
distinct, but still,
still, still, 
with a still dynamism all its own, 
a pedagogic delta of ever increasing entropy
and then, from nowhere “I’m Lakshmi Singh”
and then returned to nowhere yet again,
replaced, resounding,
with chaotic nothings
the universe whispers into my ear
reminding me
this is not the best of all possible worlds
but only one-
but only one-
but it is mine