The vinyl record just rotates
in circuits of unforseen loops
queued in the unending circles
revolved strains of melodies
Yet every song remains the same ​stamped of a watered down clef
rooted fragile moments of numbness
gated inside notions with bricks
Even if the sun roars in a trumble
she remains that inhibited builder
a human, that fragile sort of a woman
a protective rooted architect of life