12 Hour Song by Vin Whitman

It was written at knifepoint
And now it has been mastered
Played with no break
For the overseers. It started slowly,
It climbed the half steps
Over rigid bodies living off the grid, the rapt
Staff of listeners overheard
Giant angel wings
Shaking the airwaves like a
Dirty rug
And dollar signs chimed in

The seers said they wanted to hear
A song with teeth, a whole resonating skull
A song they could live in
With their money and their children
A song that would feed them tiny bites
Of hyperbole
It would have 12 hours to
Change the world with its message
Instead of the average five minute

The 12-hour song was better than a movie
And almost as good as a book
No, better than a book too
It was described as porn, messiah,
Heroin, bacon and nectar of the ear
And no one,
Not the solitary auditory prisoner
Suspended in time’s resin
Not the mute attention span
Functioning on the spectrum
Not the just you’s and me’s
Of the world
Could stand any other noise or silence

Withdrawals were deadly and
The money rippled like magic carpets
Riding the radio’s apocalyptic

Vin Whitman

Vin Whitman is a writer, editor and radio programmer living in Sarasota, Florida. He likes needles, spiders and public speaking. His work can be found or is forthcoming at Yellow Chair, Rasputin, Section 8, Peeking Cat, Uut Poetry, and Crow Hollow.


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