Thursday, March 8, 2018

A Poem for James Luna (1950-2018)




Record Store Indian

you were so good at standing still
I never remember 
you stopping

how you got from one end of the stage
to the other
I remember only

your halting breaths
your widening eyes
you rarely said

more than five syllables at a time
the lights dimming
the needle

dropped
on that unpressed space
between songs

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