the white noise mountains of the my youth

David Rambo

Static strikes in a blizzard
white backdrop
like television commercials,
accentuates the roaring snowy mountains.
They are without bottoms—no beginning and all ends.
Loudly silent,
a drop of water falls
and ripples reverberate. This
loops incessantly.
And the mountains can’t be
seen but they’re there.
An inter-valley transition.
A forged dream sequence
ineffaceable from a mirror of experience
misunderstood:
a child’s lost placeholder.
Only white noise
caught
between
an antenna’s completed signal
resulting in a snow storm of fuzz
and the viewer’s inability to
turn off the power.
His body cringes
at the weight of those unseeable mountains,
hunched over without realizing.
And the water keeps dropping
at the perfect angle and close-up.