a fragrant puff of
vintage air
poofs off my record player
tickling hidden hairs
in my nostalgic nose,
as it spins
and shines dark
in the lamplight,
a crisp
soft stench of jazz
and soul of the attic
a static warmth,
a two-sided score,
an ancient poetic secret
for the ear
right here
to hear
Written in Newborn, GA 2012

Author’s Thought: When I open the lid of my record player and engage the mechanics that cause it to spin, I’m given this very distinct musty stench that reminds me of being 16 sitting late nights in my room listening to Are You Experienced? over and over with candles dancing below my midnight window.

Categories: Musical Poetry, Nostalgic Poetry | Leave a comment

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