When I listen to certain songs, I hear
the tape hiss, no matter the format.
As if my own blood and sweat sits
deep within the track. A pencil to
tighten the truth of the situation;
The slight squeak and squeal of
the wheel getting away on itself,
even deep within itself. All those
hours spent listening. All that time.
I’ll never get it back, and wouldn’t
ever want that anyway. Evidence,
despite there being no final exam.
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