upstairs i straighten and jimmy h encourages
from the grooves in some blackass vinyl
his face stares from cardboard, perplexed
no doubt by his disembodied voice
in the corner of the cover a possessive s-j-c
it was once my fathers but belongs now to me
when side one is done, i don’t live today
i hear jeff m downstairs helping get dishes done
to slapping strings and hoarse throat notes
i think of genes and leaves of trees, all one
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