Poetry
Sky-sequins spun, emulating lights upon
Bleak bodies – the belongings of our wallflowers
Wasting away in the moonlit boom;
We had no rock without that midnight savior.
A towering, technologic table turner
A sound-shifter who would have the vinyl verdict
A vestige of funk itself;
That man of greater records spoke:
“Blossoms of the corners come out,
Tonight, it is safe to dance, so let yourself go!”
With these words came splashing sounds of freedom
Fresh alleviation to an awkward nation –
We were in no coward’s haven now.
Guys and gals were groovin’ and grindin’
Glidin’ and slidin’ to the funk-frog’s croak,
And from our ‘fros to our toes,
Our mix master’s soul-river flowed,
Empowering celebration,
And our universal joy,
Our single electric happiness –
Boogie.