Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Poem: Going Mad Might Be Like A Bad Eight Track Tape Deck



You're not sure hear it:
Faint overtones in the music
Like the static in a skipping signal

From a distant 50,000 watt radio station.
It's subtle at first,
Like music from another room.

Soon it becomes more than an echo.
You hear two songs at once
Like when the azimuth of an 8-track head

Becomes misadjusted
And the audio of adjacent tracks
Bleeds into the current song.

Hearing voices must be like that.
You brush it aside
At first, doubting your own ears.

When it emerges with authority
You no longer know
Which voice is real

And which voice is a doppleganger.
Soon the bleedthrough
Takes precedence

And you no longer differentiate
Between your Jiminy Cricket voice
And the one ordering you

To leave your house
And dice up the first luckless person
To cross your path.
---o0o---

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