In the panhandle of Texas
you can forget FM.
The world is flat here.
People stick Cadillacs
in the sand as an art joke.

Two o’clock in the AM
signals bounce off the ozone—
Chicago,  Nashville,  Del Rio:
A blizzard buries
the Grand Ole Opry,
but Jesus rises,
Saving and Healing
for Postage and Handling.

Four.  An accordion plays
polka and static.
Stopped, the desert is as huge
as the hiss of my piss
on the ground.
Had a friend once
on speed who saw
a 40 foot cowboy
striding toward him
down the highway,
over his car
and into his
rearview mirror.

Maybe it’s that cowboy
on the accordion,
his own broadcast tower.
Maybe it’s him
who can tell me
what in hell I’m doing here.
Maybe it’s him
who’s playing “Nola”
for all these stars.

—Dennis Danvers

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