not the tangible type of waves

the children went to swim in the sea
one day like little black
fish on little black trees

can you see them from the kitchen
in the electric choked frequencies
they swim swing s(t)ing
on static radio waves
but they don't know,
they think that
they're swimming in shawls of pools
of golden green of crinkled shell of
sea bend salts and acrylic streams of
glitter queens.
but the noise the broken re(chords) stagger
retch and
plummet vomits of radio
knives and (blank) noise we (can't even hear)
the noise because we're not on the
static step technicolour mirages, from when we
thought it would be a good idea to
turn up the contrast
just a little bit higher on
their secret stolen television lives
/yes- that sort of high, it's harder to walk than
fly oh it's
harder to walk than fly.