He kissed the crowd with stardust. Then he sang.
Limits wiped away like makeup when he sang.
Ten. Nine. Counting down to freedom. Deep space
waiting for our sparkle. Eight, seven, he sang.
Shamed to silence for my off-key warble, when
the speakers shook with Diamond Dogs, even I sang.
His personas dulled, bled moonbeams. Every
time re-formed, again he rose. Again he sang.
Changed to dolphins by his wishing, we swam free
and desperate in the dream ocean he sang.
Queer, odd, lonely, alien – his skewed eyes
turned us numinous. Amen, we sang.
The news knocked us back to our teen names.
Look up here, I’m in heaven, he sang.
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