This is what we do. We clean up. We sing like strangers. We open a window now and then for advice. We change paths when they lose their way. We bargain for one more hour of light. We make our wounds less noticeable. We find a dream that fits. We exchange glances that don’t. We get smooth. We get covered up. We fall away and come together. We get it right now and then. We get reckless for a while. We clean up again.
In which a long-time record collector and sometimes poet shares shares vinyl finds, words of worth, and plays keep or cull.
