I write it all down. The yearning. The silence. The neighbors stepping outside for a cigarette. It is all here. The ghosts. The nobility. The dishes piled by the sink. Nothing escapes me. Not the times. The dust. Or the uncertainty. I start over. I exinguish their cigarettes. Clear the dishes. And reassure myself. I write it all down. Until you find your way in.
In which a long-time record collector and sometimes poet shares shares vinyl finds, words of worth, and plays keep or cull.
