stacked up
in boxes of three across
and plenty more
across
they sit
proudly
to my right
in sagging cheap
containers
but the spines
read better than any book
and I let my fingers
do a stroll
against them
as I walk past daily
I’ve never counted them
and I doubt
I ever will
but there sure are
plenty of them here at the
house
right now
with
The White Stripes
playing
feedback smiles
I feel it like love
coursing through my system
like liquid glory
and
I rise from my desk here
and
dance
like a maniac
like a nutcase
who has alluded the
funny farm
for 41 years now
take away my sight...
slice the tongue
out of my mouth
and leave me
leaning up against a post
limbless
without a nose
to breath in the scents
of everything that
normal folks enjoy
give me the needle
give me the wax
and even the laser
that reads the digital notes
on those round plastic discs
that I have spent
so much money on
throughout my years
fuck my senses
but one
let the ears
have the day
and nights
long live the
drums inside of my
elephant long lobes
many and piled up
they are my passion
and I am certain
there are plenty of
gals and guys
who could relate to me
when I say
that
records
are a good thing
the
best
and
wax equals happiness
no matter how blue
the day may
show itself to be
the records win out
over sadness
and I adore them
plenty
they are next to me now
and as I type
Jack White sings about
friendship
and I nod along to the words
from the man who
makes it for me
tonight
Eddie Cochran was
last night
tomorrow
who knows
but now
we’re going to be friends
with
thirty three and a third
revolutions
and
my needle
is a brave soul
whom I love
so
with night busting in
and sleep is
inevitable
I rise from my chair
and
call it a day
placing the arm to the cradle
I close up shop
and hit
the
hay
with those stacks
towering in the den
proud and glorious
as I close my eyes
and thank God
for my ears
and my beating heart
which keeps it all
flowing
within me
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