I feel stretched
by Bowie, David.
He is more than me,
a northern light
holding invisible forces
inside himself
that pull a variety of life’s
mysteries
towards him.

His soundscapes
surround me.
His is a collage
of images cut
from life’s
infinite fabric;
details that
every generation
believes
are
set in their
near future,
like biblical
revelations.

On hearing him
color is injected
into my soul;
ink that hardens
to become
plastic,
to make me
more like plastic;
flexible
and unbreakable.

I feel organized
in his presence,
not in a military
way,
but like ants, or
bees
who understand
how their
movements
are not individual
but part of a
greater fabric,
not like they are
planned
but influenced
in ways that
can only be
revealed
when
they are
part of a past.