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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