10 feb 2019, Brixton Blend

Updated: Feb 25, 2019

Flat White.


The light shines on Electric Avenue while

Bowie's ghost sound-checks the wind -

hand on hip,

fire in the eyes,

mischief on the lip,

mind made out of universes. Sometimes it's like he never left Brixton and

never got famous and

only owned these streets and

was King of what could have been.

You wonder, did he feel lost on these streets? Right here?

Right where you are, where

you ache right now?

Strangers pass you by,

their steps a part of a melody

you never quite got the lyrics to.

Sipping coffee, far away from this table,

from this island, you

just press pause on this.

Then, for good measure,

press save.

There's no ship to bring you

closer to your shores,

There's no absolute beginners

that Bowie sang about.

There's, for sure, an absolute sense of an break,

a crack -

but one that lets light out

and yells: "...And stay out!"

Where are all our heroes now?

Did they also stop for coffee?






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