Chopin: the Nocturnes . . .

Spacious empty house, at night.

Not Disco music.

PROMPT 16

write a poem that involves describing something in terms of what it is not, or not like.

There must emerge a kind of communication that’s not adequate to the design of the Machine: dyscommunication.  The name of the final game against the Machine is thus ABC-dysco.

from bolo’bolo by P.M.

Disco, seen by some as base,
Lightened up our heavy weather.
K.C’s sunshine proves my case:
Music can be made together.

A blast of brass now hails the muse,
Stepping, smiling, getting down—
Swaying in her platform shoes,
Transforming that sad Sixties frown.

Funked-up horns and pulsing rhythm
Have their place, in retrospect . . .
Though some may need an exorcism
From the Discotheque Effect.

Basslines, beats, and tambourines
Sound so much better played by men.
Our present-day synthetic scenes
Compare unfavorably with then.

And K.C’s grin remains infectious
As those back-up sisters sway;
When those horns kick in, it wrecks us,
Driving homeward all the way.