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Slipped out,

of jacket-

So black

and round.

Twelve inches

of texture.

With care I hold it.

Lay it down

where it belongs.

I bring the needle

to my groove.

Set it gently.

It finds the way.

The crackle, the pop

Such volume-

Increases,in creases, increases.

My song repeats-

the pounding beat plays

Through the night.

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