Notes stretch backwards spooling into yesteryears ,
As fingers once taut and sure, tremble, still bending frets of memories,
Ever young, rigid, and seasoned with sleets, tornadoes, droughts, and rich harvests that overflowed in barns riddled with rodents of remorse,
But the tunes never leave,
They « moog « their way back, in organs resilient with determination,
Subtler, mellower, matured with realisations,
Age is just a progression still being explored by « genexers »,
The groove still thumping away in the funky mind’s twist and turns,
Feet tapping in percussions of all that goes round coming back, boomeranging in reminiscent streams,
As a river of retro music kindles the new progressive « anything »,
Ears still the mouthpieces of every era that orchestrates the collective mind’s hues and echoes,
Muffled in the rumbling wheels of highway haunts.
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