Vinyl

we have forgotten mother,
purity — sinned
against vinyl.
remember when
amplified
how a plying needle swims
a sea of grooves her metal made?
worn, now fading
in sleeves cradled
amid a dry village of dust —
hoarse echoes of time
cry for her bosom.

memory lies grooved,
reverbs in dull veins.
every hiss, pop, crackle
hidden in dividing lines —
widen like chasms
on a pale, puzzled face

 
 Brian Ciochetto

Brian Ciochetto

Brian Ciochetto lives in Green Bay. Former radio, TV, news journalist writes poetry, blogs and tweets about his writing and low vision from glaucoma. Remains active with basketball and gardening.