Shall it be alright
if I should see you tomorrow night?
I’m without inspiration—
not to mention the terrible sadness
and melancholy at Bowie’s passing:
can it ever be all the world
we hoped it would be
now that that artist is gone?
The possibility of such a greeting, gone?
What a thrill it would have been
to meet such a writer and actor—which
is what he himself said he was—
what we watched and witnessed—
the artist putting up a mask
in order to open the aperture
to take in and work to get out.
As long as there is Sun,
as long as there is rain,
he sang in a final song.
When day arrives,
together or alone,
perhaps is all—
that we could peer into the universe
for this time is all.
He declared he loved life.
Shall it be alright
if I should see you tomorrow night?
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