Sound and vision:
A guttural sigh at losing
the lost and overexplored
underexploded at heights of ingenuity unheard
ever after, interminably before. 

A gift, brilliant blue swallowed sea water
gagging electricity
bragging egotricity
clean, falling through lines of
crystallising blackstardust.

Sound and vision
make no sense, nor
hear nor see the fleeting present tense
to be replaced by just, gone.

Those your gifts we gluttonously receive,
now stream a legacy
needed, reading, puzzling, warming,
to smoke again,
at your fire, that never goes out.

In memorium of David Bowie (1947-2016). Rest easy, Starman. 

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