Return of the Thin White Duke: Missing David Bowie On His Shoulda Been 71st


As you get older, the questions come down to about two or three. How long? And what do I do with the time I’ve got left? ~~David Bowie



Strangely I have never clawed,

rallied against

gone beyond


Everything in your years

have their brightness

in your most never are

wherever stars are

things which run me,

or which cannot happen

because they too

are taken

so very soon.


Your virtuosic look

will necessarily ungive me

though I have also

sung myself as galaxy,

you are always

inside, by, inside

myself as brain

feeling, pretending, completely,

mainly disturbing thought


or if your musky incense be

to think of me,

I and my prophet

will express very that, fully,

as when the music of this

everything promises the point

never, everywhere living




which we are to understand

into this corpse goes

the daemon of your absolute ghost:


I do take what it is about you

that gives

and fly


Only something in me blows

the change of your years

is more challenging than all brain

attention. Not even this place,

has such entrenched somebody




awakens me with

the persona of its water,

believing electricity and

feeling with each



~~ Vivacia K. Ahwen*

*Originally published in 47-16 Volume I. All rights reserved by author.








On the Twelfth Day of Christmas,

A Small Girl spoke to a Stable Genius.

You’re afraid, she said, interrupting his trumpet.

I fear nothing, he grunted. I am a God among men.

She saw how he trembled, heard how he slurred.

You should sleep, Mister Elephant.

And the Stable Genius blinked.

I can’t stop, now.

The men will cut off my tail.

They will harvest my tusks.

The Small Girl reached out, holding a feather.

It’s all they know.

You taught them well.

The Stable Genius shook himself about

Flapped his ears

grasped the feather with his trunk.

Do you think I can fly?

She whisper-sang something about

Pink Elephants On Parade, and said

Just rest.