Wednesday, 13 January 2016


I see Bowie @ his execution
archly poised, a pointed gun,
his gentleness in isolation
exuberant and fine;
hadn’t heard from him in years,
a loved one, standing  by the wall
The speaker was an angel,
he coughed and shook his crumpled wings
            moved his lips: 
It’s time we should be going.
His song: I’d not be done with Heroes
for all I’ve tried and written,
sadly now when Bowie plays the shadow
turning on a screen, he's gone
I know.  I hear it on the radio,
I feel it in my soul.

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