I hunger for the stars we make when we are all alone. They bear no scars. They do not want for wishes. Their names are only known to them. They are as close as a glance and warm as a thought, and they are all ours, tonight and every night when all the lights of others are gone
In which a long-time record collector and sometimes poet shares shares vinyl finds, words of worth, and plays keep or cull.
Chasing Perfect Sound Forever 