Cracked Actor

Sculpted jaw.

Self-effacing porcelain God 

of Divine cheekbone

garbed in motley clicked together

from Carnaby dustbin excess.

Even from the start

from Bromley girlfriend

left eye warping scuffs

we struggled to train the lens on you.

 

You, orbiting modfather 

a liquid mirror cipher 

full pure theatre

pulling strings

opening our curtain

on the careful strokes that

painted the stage of Bowie's face.

 

Lips encyclopaedic

listed influence and influenced

through maw of broken teeth below

alien eyes I never saw

but looked straight through me.

 

Down, down to

rabid hollow of collar bone

collecting crocodile tears

shades of Dali

for the closet

hetero 

spiritual vampire

constructing descending major chords

on white diets of milk

and Coke

if not the side effects

it must be love.

 

You went backwards to go forward

New York again

back to enclosed space

firewalled freedom

of your older, digital self

prodding at the world from cyberspace

while strutting the school run catwalk

not chameleon nor comedian nor caricature

just Jones,

directing Bowie’s death.

 

The stars

are different now.

The night lit with

colours of nothing

but a jewelled death mask

thunderbolt

another cracked actor,

another mirror smashed.