There’s a place where I can go and tell my secrets to… (Brian Wilson)

In a room,

a child not yet a teen,

sits full of good vibrations.

The vinyl stolen from parents

crackles with life,

static and promises of a long summer for all.

Surfboards, so alien to this coast of estuary and mudflats,

yet the glow of California dreams and girls perforates his reality.

Do i...

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Here is old poem idea I've had for ages about favourite album titles and the feelings that the music of each inspired in me at the time.  My old vinyl records - nostalgia.  You've got to guess the artists.  It's not laid out in a poem style fro a reason, and that's becasue a design friend of mine some years ago formatted (God knows how) into a circular text shaped as an LP.  It just needed a lable...

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