It feels good to think,
to be thought of and to be

touched (well, sometimes.)
I think of my skin

as some weird mix of snack
food and lighting effects.

The radio station
describes imaginary places.

When one song stops,
the next song

just sort of explodes.
It feels good to listen.

It feels good to sing along.

 

—
Glen Armstrong edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters and has three new chapbooks: Set List (Bitchin Kitsch), In Stone and The Most Awkward Silence of All (both Cruel Garters Press). His work has appeared in Conduit and Cloudbank.