Solace of Other

colors are transmissions

    you said

transmissions from somewhere else

you always crave transmissions 

from somewhere else

shortwave radio broadcasts

rife with the chi of center earth

public access television

from deep in a rainforest

snippets of exotic musics 

  raining down

  dust from the stars . . . 

you sit tucked into a corner

your face pressed against a small window

wanting another street

    magical, luminescent

other –

you would leave your room, go

  down into that gray street,

have someone stake you bus fare,

  if only you knew where to go