EPISODE · May 21, 2026 · 49 MIN
The Black Swan
from democracyroad · host John Case
Enlighten Radio Presents Dark -- But Untwisted Poems to the "black swan" -- associated with magical rarity, or fantasy contexts, except in Australia whence they originate. Jeanine Leane, Bridget Pegeen Kelly, Katharyn Howd Machan, more Wednesdays 10 AM Hosts: Janet Harrison, John Case This Episode Recorded May 18, 2026 Odile, The Black Swan by Una Mcdonnell Impossible to look at her without thinking dark water, depths where light doesn't reach. In the diner on Dalhousie, her presence commands the booth, though only the decrepit at the counter sees the water rising, water- line gurgling just beneath her chin. Flutter of a dark wing that briefly stretches. Sally, a regular, orders coffee between johns, eggs at 4 a.m. They arrive, sunny side silicon perfect. Minivans line up to glean sorrow from her eyes. If only I could dance, says Sally. When the sky turns pink, she'll sleep. Odile once had an act involving lit black candles and a snake. Smoke she could conjure on demand. Rose on stage, an angel from the black lake. They all desired her, but one. Before Champagne Rooms, loose laws, when looking was enough She holds her mug as if it could contain her. The transistor radio tin-tin-tins demented heart songs tie a yellow ribbon -- and getting caught in the rain --¦ and I'll never have that recipe again -- Pale-skinned fries rise like broken limbs from plates, tendrils of vinegar seep down. The scent is grease, acid, hot breath and chrome. There are no new ways to be alone. There are no new ways to mourn. Our Blog Our Player Our Podcasts questions, comments: [email protected]
What this episode covers
Enlighten Radio Presents Dark -- But Untwisted Poems to the "black swan" -- associated with magical rarity, or fantasy contexts, except in Australia whence they originate. Jeanine Leane, Bridget Pegeen Kelly, Katharyn Howd Machan, more Wednesdays 10 AM Hosts: Janet Harrison, John Case This Episode Recorded May 18, 2026 Odile, The Black Swan by Una Mcdonnell Impossible to look at her without thinking dark water, depths where light doesn't reach. In the diner on Dalhousie, her presence commands the booth, though only the decrepit at the counter sees the water rising, water- line gurgling just beneath her chin. Flutter of a dark wing that briefly stretches. Sally, a regular, orders coffee between johns, eggs at 4 a.m. They arrive, sunny side silicon perfect. Minivans line up to glean sorrow from her eyes. If only I could dance, says Sally. When the sky turns pink, she'll sleep. Odile once had an act involving lit black candles and a snake. Smoke she could conjure on demand. Rose on stage, an angel from the black lake. They all desired her, but one. Before Champagne Rooms, loose laws, when looking was enoughShe holds her mug as if it could contain her. The transistor radio tin-tin-tins demented heart songs tie a yellow ribbon -- and getting caught in the rain --¦ and I'll never have that recipe again --Pale-skinned fries rise like broken limbs from plates, tendrils of vinegar seep down. The scent is grease, acid, hot breath and chrome. There are no new ways to be alone. There are no new ways to mourn. Our Blog Our Player Our Podcasts questions, comments: [email protected]
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The Black Swan
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