I am not ready for reclamation. I want a name that’s mine alone. A softer season where there is no example to follow. An opportunity to be wrong now and then. A countdown to tend to. A brief but bright detonation. A certain hereafter to adhere to. A lesson in humility. An audience that waits without expectations. A communion with the weight of fingerprints. A way out of these words that does not compromise me anymore than I already have. Something more.
In which a long-time record collector and sometimes poet shares shares vinyl finds, words of worth, and plays keep or cull.
