the weight of the music
is upon me
as I flip through my records
all cattycorner
in styles and years
sad with a ridiculous longing
to crush it all together
in a way that would do
what some sideshow medicine man
would sell
an impossible combination
of notes and beats
that would make sense
that would create a comforting frame
with muscle behind it
an unreachable thing
that seems to be sitting there
in the stack of records
I gaze at quietly
from this old couch
________________
Bob Hudson has worked as a New York City bicycle messenger and long-haul truck driver. His soulful, energetic readings are a staple of the poetry and spoken-word scene in his hometown of Jackson, MS.
Lovely.
Records? I had to show my kids what they were. They’d never seen them.
Yesterday I dug Dedra’s old turntable out of the closet–and it still works! And Dedra has a fantastic record collection … Last night it was Stevie Wonder’s “The Secret Life of Plants,” “Art Blakey’s A Night at Birdland,” a Fall album (name escapes me right now) and the soundtrack to Repo Man … can’t wait to spin more tonight, listening for that unreachable thing.