In the van just before midnight.
The radio's off, but I still hear it playin'.
White-noise beats and muffled guitars
as if the station were strugglin' through static.
Some lost-island broadcast
I spin the dial & make certain;
it shouldn't be playing.
It isn't playing.
But here I am,
I check my cell; no noise.
I look to the back seats
afraid of what'll find me
there in the dark.
I'd locked the doors 'fore going into the movie.
Parked 'neath the streetlamp w/ the cop-car beside it.
Doors were still locked to get into the van,
all the same.
And here I am-
Listening to ghost-music.
It plays its syzygy whispers
just beneath the tattered, rattlin' AC.
& it plays me home.
I turn off the car
and kill the music.