your song
of winter
is cold
and hard
to swallow
it covers
everything
in heavy layers
of nostalgia
and melancholy
such that
i cannot sing it
lay it down
and i will
make one
of my own
a brief refrain
an epitaph
for my footprints
swallowed whole
In which a long-time record collector and sometimes poet shares shares vinyl finds, words of worth, and plays keep or cull.
