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.