There’s so much to say. I wasn’t ready for this death. I hope I can say more at some point. In the meantime, I’ll re-run a little poem I wrote when he released “Walking the Dead” a couple of years ago–a song and album for which I was so grateful. I hadn’t even realized how much I’d needed a new one from him.
_____
Bowie’s Voice
starched linen right when
it’s not so stiff
piece of paper twisting
in a breeze
sheet of metal
a thin sheet
its sound waves
emerging at the quiet snap
of bending this way
and then that
Bowie’s voice
in “Where Are We Now”
quavery
elegant
sad
exactly how we ought to speak
to the dead, were we to speak
to the dead, were we dead,
were we out walking the dead.
marniere 