Music of the Spheres

Frequencies get lean out here, echoing like abandoned ghosts
rattling the forgotten umbrellas & coatless hangers in the front
hall closet. Everyone just ghosted the minute the summonses
came & the exodus sounded like the stars Jansky didn’t mean
to record while he tried to fix the telephone lines. This part
of the sphere doesn’t have working phones, so where do we go
next? To the rooms of vacant advice & gilded paintings where
the have-it-alls live? To their quadrophonic systems & wood-
cheeked speakers? A golden record in a pulsar map & binary
arithmetic plays at 16 2/3 RPM as the record changer stacks
requests for traveling music. One LP settling on top of another
LP, a platter of orbits for the rest of the intergalactic Voyagers.