Reel to real

Reel to real

A low voltage headache
Serenaded by a distant saxophone
It grows like algae on the walls of a damp alley
Creeping into your joints
Pulsing to its own heartbeat
Somewhere deep in the back of your skull there is a neon red graph
A thin line documenting the progress
A reel to reel tape catches every golden note from your saxophone
friend
It has a certain constant grind that seems to power the headache
The tape falls off the second reel
Piling up
Pushing into your temples
You smell that chemical ordor
from the crumpled tape that crinkles in your ear trying to work its way out

The man with the saxophone appears at the Backdoor

He walks up and reaches out as if to touch your large golden hooped earring
Instead he grabs the tape sticking out of your ear and begins to run
This is mine, so divine he sings
As he runs through endless daisies
When the last of the tape runs out you grab it and off you go
He is flying you like a kite
He runs full speed through the daisies that are now towering over his head
You let go
In that instant the headache turns into exhilaration and you are light as air
You drift down to earth
And take your place