Vinyl Hashshashin

An overturned water glass catches white
Smoke from the prick of a pin driven through
The thick cardboard of an album cover
Any old Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin,
Or BÖC will do—Hurry! Hurry!
It’s burning and you don’t want to waste it

Hours spent stalking the used bins for gold
The pervading smell of mold and incense
Belies the dreams of rock glory hidden
Within torn paper sleeves printed with ads
For music you’ve never heard of—a trail
Of dead clues leading back to the ’60s

It’s the little things that can’t be captured
By ones and zeros—by on and not on
Nature prefers an encompassing arc
The devil’s in the details and he floats
Between the absolutes—Listen! Listen!
He’s talking and you don’t want to miss it

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