the albums

I just drank in this cheap room, a young man
totally misplaced in the world.
I hardly ate anything, the wine was my
substance
and the classical
records.

I lived like a god damned fly, or maybe like a
confused
rat.
where I scrounged my few funds, I no longer
remember.

but I do remember the record store
where you could exchange 3 used albums for
2.

by buying an occasional album and by continuous
trading
I gradually listened to almost all the
albums
in that store.

but most of the time I was broke so I had to
listen to very very many of the 2 albums
on hand
over and over and
over.

I drank and listened again and
again.
each note became embedded in
me
and then
re-embedded.

now
decades later
I still sometimes hear
one of those old albums on the
radio–same conductor, same
orchestra–
and I immediately
shut the radio
off

yet remember that time with a
melancholy
fondness.