RADIO EROS By David St. John

There is nothing

Sentimental about the body

Acting as a transmitter of --to? --

The wicked cosmos, & the message, if not clear,

Is brutally profound. So, lost heart, radio eros,

Distant evangelical flesh, despair only if you feel

Nothing at all, only when the signal fades

To the white of daily noise; otherwise,

Each new desire admits we’re still alive,

If barely, & newly at risk again, thank our

Lucky falling stars.

From “In the Pines: Lost Poems 1972-1997” by David St. John (White Pines Press: 176 pp., $16 paper)