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Dynamic Range
Woke up in the middle of ten-in-a-row
I heard bald tires spinning on a rainy road
It was a cold and prickly six-forty-five
As the dull day opened at the edge of the sky
A grim-faced anchor from the morning crew
With a studio tan and a passion for news
Said a police chase ended in a watery ditch
While the death car dangled on a tow truck hitch
This mind-share message pouring out of the west
On a sideband signal coming tight and compressed
Took a light speed path to a ring-toned ear
Like a hardball crossing the ionosphere
First small talk weather, then a bulletin shoots
Over breakfast banter from a bundle of suits
Squeezes media paste through the front of my head
And it sticks around when the speakers go dead
I’m a cubicle drone crawling over the ridge
Under buy-me signs while I’m stuck on a bridge
Got a four-lane brain overlapping on eight
Doubles my credit if I snap at the bait
The time slice wizards are dividing my space
For the profit god of the quickening pace
Who would shrink my font on a tightening page
Then drive me back into my Faraday cage
[2006]
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The
Poetry of Daniel Harrison