The Collected Acetates
The acetates haunt every storage space
Since they were discovered hiding,
Lying within a household chest of drawers.
If blank discs are among those found
The smooth sides leave no memento
Of aural waves for heaven's reception.
The unlabeled labels are pure...
They soothe more than any angel's voice
Could lure from a revolving groove.
No flashback can show
Or try to surmise
Why they hypnotize!