Night Call, Collect
Suppose and then suppose and then suppose
That wires on the far-slung telephone black poles
Sopped up the billion-flooded words they heard
Each night all night and saved the sense
And meaning of it all.
Then, jigsaw in the night,
Put all together and
In philosophic phase
Tried words like moron child.
Thus mindless beast
All treasuring of vowels and consonants
Saves up a miracle of bad advice
And lets it filter whisper, heartbeat out
One lisping murmur at a time.
So one night soon someone sits up
Hears sharp bell ring, lifts phone
And hears a voice like Holy Ghost
Gone far in nebulae
That beast upon the wire,
Which with sibilance and savorings
Down continental madnesses of time
Says Hell and O
And then Hell-o.
To such Creation
Such dumb brute lost Electric Beast,
What is your wise reply?
That's by Ray Bradbury. From his Martian Chronicles, if I recall correctly. I've had this in my head for about a week now, I don't know why. Just felt like sharing. (And like listening to Nona Hendryx sing "Through The Wire"; it's on her "Skindiver" album.}
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