An (Imaginary) Walk With David Bowie
The valley falls away beneath our feet
The path feels coarse and crumbling, rough stones
underfoot
We have to watch our step, yet he seems to find it easy
going
As he capers and prances along beside me
His puckish face alight with the possibility of mischief
The dark hills shelter the incoming rain-clouds
Yet this crack’d actor, now in his golden years,
Simply scampers along, over the stiles and through the
gates
As we wander with purpose from station to station
His androgynous form somewhat at odds with his
surroundings
The muddy fields gradually slow our progress
I’m feeling unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed
Yet David, the prettiest star, seems un-bothered
By the gathering storm, the changes in the landscape
And the sound and vision of sweeping rain
And soon the moon emerges
Its light catching the spangles and sparkles
In his Ziggy Stardust lycra body-suit
And the glint of his mischievous smile
A man who fell to Earth, a space oddity
A starman stranded on our planet
I’m deathly tired, and I stumble on the footpath
And still this wild-eyed boy from Freecloud
Is full of energy, and nothing but supportive
“Better hang on to yourself” he says
Or “let’s dance!” as he pirouettes in front of me
I stare ahead, irresolute to reach our goal
But he’s looking at the stars, wondering if there’s life
on Mars
A thin white duke, a laughing gnome, a rock n’ roll
suicide
Major Tom, the Jean genie, the man who sold the world
Less than a rebel, rebel, but more a lad insane
I feel too low, I have not half his energy
So I pursue our direction through the downward dale
And I wonder if he’s really there
Or some figment of a tired mind
Some temporary imagining, an occasional dream
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