A Wake for Tesla

by by Mat Joiner

Juggler of sparks, wireless-dreamer,
the little lightnings that crawled your nerves
sing out into the world forever.
Every pylon makes a monument.
Your dovecote heart still resounds
with grey wings drumming.

Another future slid away with you:
a vacuum stitched with voices falls dumb,
no telegrams arrive from Mars.
Dreadnoughts fought bloodless wars
only in your mind; but, like flowers,
we press your dreams inside pulp magazines.

May 1st, 2013