Rockin' Chair
Andrew Chau
Taiwan should be famous for it’s Jazz.
It really should.
Magic-cognate, holes in wall,
Spewing equal-impartial jazz-bop,
Pop-rock, Soul.
Sold to the nearest beetle nut
Bestowing vendor, because your gums
And teeth are that perfect shade of not red,
Just.
Karaoke Jim approaches you in severed jumpsuit.
Colors red, white, and blue.
That’s Taiwan on his back, his skin,
His tanned to purple skin.
You can hear his armpits and groin
Stretch and grind like soft leather.
Then you notice, what you hear are
His slipper-shoes.
Skip, skid, slid and slide down that
Alley way on that starless, bright-mooned night,
As the cosmic waltz flies away on this hemisphere,
Offering her hand out to any passer by,
Anyone with a large enough fire in their eye.
The natives dance it in their steps, knowing
A dominant truth:
That we’re all spinning in God’s eye, so we vibrate
Onward, chewing chitter, clapping wonder,
Slap-Happy Thunder thighs oh-so-tightly
On the weather worn leather moped seat.
Screeching by on by the leviathans of the road,
Buses, trucks, shipping ever shifting loads
Of fun, rhythm screaming Ba-da-bum,
Ba-da-bum, ba-da-BAHM,
And underneath, with the trained ear you hear,
“For passengers who are leaving, why?”
As we sit on silently with sly on the
Technological humming of trains,
White with smiles all pressed tightly within,
Feigning our sleep,
So that the jazz dies in the surgical
Fluoresce wonder, under the passing of
Projectile time, and vomit.
With the holes sealed and faces peeled
Of any attachment, reading plainly and
Falsely, “I don’t think I care.”
Someone finally loses their gasket, and steam
Of Laughter escapes into the air!
So that you can at once hear the jazz in the wind,
Behind the doors that Jim opens
To show you. Spirits of neither factions,
Not of black, and not of white, fly across the night
Infecting with pleasure the unveiling of time’s
Signature. Little tangled wisp, It’s Christmas time
In this never ending zoo.
What’s out of tune,
Is you.
