Groovy
Just following mind-grooves,
hunting the smell of vinyl
and laminated covers,
no music available
only an inaudible sense
of myself
whistling aimlessly
through collections -
recollections,
the reissued
fade-outs of the faded.
Nothing too much to bear
between ear to ear,
only the well-worn, well scratched,
revolutions of the heart - its pulse
a rhythmic clicking of dry fingers
to the beat
of long muted tunes.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2024
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