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