after reading Roger Sedarat’s Ghazal Games
A boy’s telephone game transmission
becomes twisted or lost in a wrong transmission.
Warned grandfather’s ghost rattled keys in his room,
I slept there each night, yet…not one transmission.
Everyone heard the trapped Latina upstairs ranting,
her crying three babies, her wrecked transmission.
Sweet Angel loved his body, long black hair, Christopher
Street. Who knew in `81 of a deadly transmission?
To the night, to the gamble, to Bliss digital, I still analog,
whispering to achieve a Kundalini transmission.
Who has my rare black Limited Edition `96 Cougar
now—its Mustang engine with smooth transmission?
Rising up from a vampire surgeon’s table, I cursed him!
Snapped back! Thrown back from a White Light transmission!
Did you hear? The Great Pyramids were reverse
engineered to proudly render and broadcast our slave transmission.
What would U.S. semi-automatic Jesus lovers do
without their good book to quick-draw transmission?
Bulging intercontinental nuclear missiles cross:
our last Strangers in the Night transmission.
Escape is near. Andrés is my name, no matter the night,
before weaving in a dream transmission.
Andrés Castro is a PEN member/volunteer and is also listed in the Directory of Poets and Writers. He received undergraduate degrees in Psychology and English from Queens College and an MFA from Brooklyn College. His poems have appeared in the anthologies Off the Cuffs: Poetry by and About the Police and Close to Quitting Time; as well as in print and online journals including Left Curve, Counter Punch, Pilgrimage, The Potomac, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Long Shot, Ekphrastic, and Montreal Sérai.