The Timeless Record That Defies Aging: What Makes This Long-Player Eternal?
I live with my muse in a music box.
I live like a duke in a juke box.
I sit within walls of sound in my bedsit.
I turn my factory 45s churning out hit after hit.
Feel as close to a return paradise ticket there and back
as a record player needle to a record track.
As fictitiously far away from human contact
as a ghost-written autobiography to fact.
Listening to your voice in my flatlet
is like eavesdropping the one next door
through a paper thin record sleeve wall
while reading sleeve notes to a kindred spirit.
It’s been a day-by-day year, dear darling
and being remote is a way to control it.
Dreams overnight might not make it
but long-playing ones might resound like music.



