On What Matters

On What Mattered To David Bowie

He started, always, with his self-portrait
got it straight, not by biased eye
but measured it, spirit level to be sure
because it sinks within the suck of life.

Looked at those around him, did they fit
upon the shelves he chose, had they grown
so some had bent to stay within
new boundaries, his elastic views?

For friends that huddled out of touch
he reached to cup their elbows,
told them he'd dig and root so hard,
unearth them from premature graves.

His future pixellated, dark starred
by locust swarms of selfish impulses,
yet his lyrics soar against the mass
congregate courage, celebrate change.