It’s the static
In the airwaves
A frequency suspended
In purgatory
Between smooth jazz
And traffic reports
It tingles on the tips of my fingers
As they grip the steering wheel
I turn the dial
And land on that chaotic hymn
both relentless yet irresolute
like the cars in rush hour’s panicked standstill
I revel in the cacophony
For I am the static
In the airwaves
A frequency suspended
In purgatory