Bowie

1.
It is always late at night for the nocturnal
in a city of coal and bars.
You can hear the human wolves howl in the
dark.
Take a bow.
Take a bow beneath the full, crazy moon.

I was young then and I had the television on
loud its sound grew hungry and feasted on
the midnight air.
The wolves stalked their prey then took
them down outside.
Chased them all the way down alleys through
the fog of truths and confessions.
Then, someone beautiful came on the screen
he had on a corset, full makeup and skin so
powdered   so raw silk.
He touched his body gently with one long hand
and stared deeply into the television camera
knowingly.
He was Ziggy Stardust.
He was the imaginary.
He was the true.
He was David Bowie, his hair sensually perfected,
His eyes difficult to turn away from.
I had never seen anyone quite like him before.
His cobra thin body.
His lipstick, rouge, melodic seductive voice.
He was this truth some still will not say about male,
female, class, outward appearance.
I watched all of his songs and heard his guitar
and have seen no one like him before or after.

2.
Ground control.
Past lift off in this living.
Does what we are in denial of about
our existence take our very souls away?
Space ship of neglected self truths.
Do we step past everything unaware?
Do we step?
Then, do we float?
Then are we unheard and unhearing?
The stardust and all answers dissolving
back into questions?
Are we the life on Mars?
I think if just one time in life: be the
quintessential life on Mars.