Static buzzes through the halls of the old warehouse like a swarm of flies.
The sound waves bounce from the floor, the ceiling and both the rusted walls.
An audial snowstorm
I approach-search
For meaning
In the chaos

The hisses and crackles guide me to a dusty, dismal room.
In it's corner there exists a table, legs buckling like weak knees
Upon it's surface
There it was sat
The radio
My target

Eagerly I pull up a chair, then sit and stare at the object of my obsession
Slowly turning the dial as the chaotic din forms into meaning.
My metal muse
Oh artifact
Teach me
Of all things

The antennae catches the signals of Devils, Gods and Men
Wars, Sports, Cooking Shows and secrets of reality all fight to enter my ears
Combining into a soup of wisdom and tripe
I sit there paralysed
Feeling my blood begin to stop in my veins

A sudden jingle jolts me awake
Cheerful voices speak in an unknown tongue
While upbeat music plays on instruments not made for human ears
I push back off the table and run for my sanity
Before the program resumes
Before the advertisements end
© Tom Edwards