Monday Poem

New Vinyl

…. —an Elegy

to take an album in your hands,album stack
to feel its slight heft,
to unsheathe it from clear synthetic skin,
to slip it from its cardboard cover,
to scan its art, to flip it over, read,
then draw it from its inner sleeve
with care (platter’s rim to palm just so)
so as not to grease and soil
its lyric grooves with finger oil
which might later cause
a lead-riff stutter

to hold in hands —but only by its rim
between two palms— to catch the lightglaze
caroming from its onyx spiral
cast like hairs in onyx vinyl

to drop its center hole upon a hub
and, as it spins, to lift and move
its diamond-studded arm above
the leading edge of disk and set
with steady surgeon’s glance
its fine smart tip to spinning rifts
to do its oscillating dance—
its bouncing ride off microcliffs
that send vibrations out
as turning table shifts
and shadows scatter

….. ah! in that tick of space & time
music’s all that matters

Jim Culleny