mmmcxxxv

heathenesque 

       —i.m. David Bowie, Rex Ray

you remind me of the seventies i
don’t remember and you’re glitterbuilt like
plastic in shokan new york where you’re
a chameleon just like me and your new
hollywood is taking a trip in a gemini spacecraft
with all the words crossed thru the middle

think of me under pressure in nineteen eighty-two
or four years later when my own major tom
was huddled naked in the closet while my
roommate made noises through the keyhole
and the whole new world was mtv and
almost bisexual or had been and got through it

down in space you sit beside your tall telephone
in that country studio that is ackshully plastic
i’m listening to you while all the
birdshit on the eaves of the oldish buildings
along geary street turns into cosmic goo
and gee it’s lovely like an old standard

now you sing about flying
over coney island always haunted
i’m wondering how serious you must
look in your lovely buildings past mercury

too bad i can’t be all dressed up in the
moonsun like you even though you are
always me like here inside myself as you
float down that long stairway with all the
rays shining right through you and i can
really feel your space with all this lightstuff

i remember let’s dance and i hope you
wear that dress when you die