Disco Metronome

By | 1 September 2023

The year I grew older than my mother and thought about Theo Parrish mixing Loleatta
Holloway’s song Catch Me (on the Rebound)

Ugly edits, Theo brings disco’s ravished heart, his white labels smudged with handwriting,
Loleatta’s name on his tongue. Another rhythm spectre, drum ghost. A sound to guide every murky
divinity ever loved to this dance floor, their feet kicking ashes in the air.

Rebound London
Loleatta promising we’re delusions hoping to happen
nights crushed between fingertips ourselves dismantled
burning eyes, scratched voice, I’m listening a slipping grip, in front room dusk

Rebound London
bodies swirling smoke we forget what the ocean implies
haloed in strobe, flashing and in fell darkness
permanence, I remember everything we are every separating vocal, looping

Rebound London
wooden tongue, silk gums snares in our coffin chest
shoes as they blister feet bass line tendons on the floor
hi-hat beneath each footfall entreaties mottled in the air

Rebound London
for ten minutes we bend in time trying to cradle our dead
on this dance floor my mother is still alive
glass eyes stare the edges hold us

Rebound Sydney
we’re packed tight staring at the the back of her hand
on this dance floor, it’s possible an abraded patch
the outer edge will cradle us her left forefinger teasing flakey skin

Rebound Sydney
this is before, but not long strange pallor against her tan
she sings a slipping grip, dark-light how it meant something
hours until another edit we failed to understand

Rebound Sydney
elk’s glass eye stares from the wall until it was too late, the first thing
enamelled, hunched, drug-rubbed she said to me, when she knew, was
white label this is not hereditary

Rebound Sydney
ugly edit, fader she shouldn’t have had to ask
and my mother is still alive sprung board beneath our feet
nothing dies here another Rebound

Rebound London
icy after the century turn nothing disappears
dawn below the horizon ugly edit, fader
a mini-cab from safety vinyl press, white label, another Rebound

Rebound Brussels
Loleatta is singing again, like in the time since she died we have become
a knowing echo people talking with ghosts
nights that listen one-sided conversations walking

Rebound Brussels
burning eyes, scratched voice even now she is attached to a cord
the end and beginning seem the same sitting in the leather chair
who knows where our fingers land beneath the wall phone, afternoon tv playing

Rebound Brussels
all our sleeping bodies I don’t know how I will
need other choices stand in a hospital room and hear
Catch me, catch me apostates counting each Rebound

Rebound Sydney
looping messages through space the groove
the mix never ending the groove
coiled around the vocal and how it is possible

Rebound Sydney
and in these seconds each question has an answer
there is only the diva’s love, nothing greater — do you hear the echo
in all the places we could name in which it lives

Rebound Sydney
with the riding bass let yourself discover
the mix, origin snare, a never-ending shiver
another Rebound a final Rebound

There’s no food in my fridge. It’s cigarettes at dawn. Do you remember that time in London when I
was fading, with a whole night trapped and stomping in my skull? In the cafe, patchy sun, tea and
water. Rebound, hauntings, empty zip-locks. And the waiter looked at us and no joke said, that’s a
way to live. Mostly all I could hear was the dance floor echoing, she was a whisper. Of course you
don’t remember. No one remembers, not even me. These things only live in the dark now, you
know, all the Rebounds. This aura, after the remains of who we were. We stand, hand out, as we
wait for taxis to appear, pull to the kerb, take us.

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