Concrete Hi-Fi (After Seeing The Isa Gencken Exhibition At The Whitechapel Gallery) Poem by C Richard Miles

What sort of significant signal is received by concrete radio?
Are there transmitted mystic messages from long-lost days ago?
Do we perceive polemics plastered by a pre-Cold war generation?
Are we deceived ditchwater dark by dumbed-down dissemination?
Is segmented sentiment cemented in ingenuous homogenous stagnation?
Is the World War on words Berlin-walled back to verbal vegetation?
Are we Telefunk drunk, Alexanderplatzed from a crumbling tower block?
Do we hear pilot pirate programmes, propaganda that is sure to shock?
Do we stand stunned, stoned into silence in monolith monotony?
Are brainwaves blanked, blocked black in a concrete cacophony?
Are mixed massed mindsets set solid with mindless messages?
Is expressive energy entombed, encased in timeless lethargy?
Is gobbledygook conglomerated granite-hard in inelegant conversation?
Do abstract extracts dissipate through a once-divided nation?
Is what they say turned gunboat grey by the frigid, rigid majority?
Do stony-faced attitudes waste platitudes and jettison joy and jollity?
Does understanding sink unthinkingly under sand like a holed sailing ship
As rocky road radio resonates with the tones of each broken relationship?