A Poem, MJ

MJ
Zap, chicka chicka chicka chicka chicka,
And it moves.
It moves with the rattattattattatta tap of
The chicky chack rat trapper.
Then the chorus.
Oh the angels are singing today aren’t they.
And there’s a chinnychinnychinny to the zap zap zap,
But always the chuck chuck chuck.

Hit it one more time.
The time was there,
And you took it.
Chacka batta tata. Sha ha. Sha ha. Na ha. Sha ha. Battata.
Hit it again and again. Tak tak tak.
There is no cool, but your cool
You fly through it like a rocket, block it and shock it.
You blast it, and it moves.
It moves.
Slides down bulb floorboards and shimmering icicle planks.
Smoother than a ten speed bicycle tire.
Smoother than the wet ice storm street.

Screaming and a bounce bounce bounce,
Now it’s slower, and it’s chill,
But still oh so cool.
Ramble it up and down and
Bodies move.
Smoo smoo smoo
Oh do bodies move.
They must move.
Sitting on a chair,
And heads move.
Swoosh swoosh swoosh hair waves in slow mo.
You rock it back and forth,
And bounce bounce bounce.

Walking in the night time, and a crack knacks right behind.
A swinging side step and a flashlight eye hits you.
There are people here, though it’s vacant.
They come and they move.
Dunkadundunka dunk.

Careful now, though,
It may be too big.
It feels so grand, but it may be too big.
That creature creeping up behind is all the rest.
Those who can’t do it.
Those who squawk and squawk and can’t move.
They’re coming, and they want it.
They wanna take the shacka shacka shamon,
And morph it to blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Shicka shimon, and they come for you.
You still move though.
You must move still.
It’s over now. It’s ending.
The beats are tah tah tah and not chacka sha sha.
There’s something missing.
Everything’s missing. Too much.
That fifty three seconds to introduce your point is wasted.
No one wanted that even if they used to.
Fifty three seconds of void.
Void. Silence. Idleness. Sadness.

It does not shake it like it did.
There’s sadness and slowness now.
Ramba ramba shamba shah, and a slow blah blah blah.
Where am I, but where are you?
Screaming from under yourself.
The pile is high.
The weight is massive.
It will not take. It will not keep. It may be over.

Golden statues and bad moves.
Memories of dance floors seen through smoke.
Mirrors that show a different tint.
A man that has fallen apart.

A beat is heard over a canyon, but it’s the past.
The past that succeeded in failing.
…but the heartbeat.

I still hear the heartbeat.
After the last breath the heartbeat comes.
Now I’m chack cha and shaka shamon,
The rattattattattattattattattattattatat
And the mat back slack knack and back racked with smack smack smack
Of feet sliding on boardwalks,
And, dead, it remains.