L.
L.
(on the day Bowie died)
Oh no, don’t say it’s true
Why don’t you rise Mr L
I bid you to, again
You don’t know who I am
I have no job, you didn’t
make it
Wind has dusted starry ashes
Leaves clinging off the tree
Little pieces of immortality
Failed solitary flicker
Somewhere on the third floor
Behind the door there’s a
path
Leading to where the ground
Under and above has no
control
On the rocky terrace
Offering has been done on
this stage
Purple skies are saved, free
The two figures meet in a
labyrinth
In a promise of come-union
Behind these old blocks
On a cemetery with no graves
I am eighteen, my looks
won’t cheat you
Dirty illusions of mature
infinity
Flow from a broken chalice
Sordid follow-up lets down
And no-one took your place
for that trip up
No-one will dance, not me...
Where are the winds that
carry my thoughts away
C’mon my hands, feel and
caress the clay
Until you form a better me
And I’ll put your mind into
this and let us see...
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