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Place

The needle on the vinyl

And spin that sound.

Watch the sock-monkey

Wind-up jump around.

 

Kids spin each other faster

On the merry-go-round.

Their laughter screams by,

What a sound.

 

The dog chases her tail

Then collapses to the ground.

She dreams of tennis balls

And a buried bone she’s never found.

 

Of the days before her family

Rescued her from the pound,

She barks and whines

And jumps at sounds.

 

Life sneaks by on an arrow,

Not straight, but round.

Music spills forth from the speakers;

Our aging spirit is

found.

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The computer’s virtual

Realm is a vacuum;

It’s sucked up

 

The Main Street video

Store and conversations

With clerks regarding

 

New films, and comics,

And war. Stacks of

VHS tapes lining walls

 

And piled on the floor

And the way he knew

Just where to locate

Any obscure B-film

Title no matter

 

How close to the ceiling

Its rank. One day

We bought 8-tracks,

 

Cassettes, records. Then

CD’s – but each groove

was recommended by

 

The man behind the counter.

Yesterday, we made

A concerted effort

 

To buy actual music

Pressed into vinyl

For a needle to

Scrape and scratch

Over – no digital

remastering. No

Transfer to MP3

 

Or virtual this or

Virtual that.

 

And bumper stickers

Crying out against

The World Wide Web

Adorned a pole

 

Near the register.

Buy me. Attach

Me to your actual

 

Reality.

 

 

This is Poem #4 from the Poem (almost) Everyday Project. These are second drafts of ┬ápieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to give useful critique.

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