Monthly Archives: February 2016

The Bowie Found Poems: Space Oddity

Welcome to the lastest installment in the David Bowie Found Poetry Project!  Eventually, I’ll get a better name for it, but at least this one’s descriptive.  If you’re new to the site, you can check out the project’s inception here.   After working with “Diamond Dogs,” I decided to loop back to the beginning, and the second poem in this series is crafted with lyrics from the album “Space Oddity.”

Bless You Madly

A found poem of lyrics sourced from the album “Space Oddity”

 

We broke the ruptured structure built of age,

and I’m not obliged to read you statements of the year,

but my head’s full of murders

where only killers scream.

They say you sparkle like a different girl,

but you cry a little in the dark,

because I’ve got to keep my veil on my face

because I love you badly,

because the rats chew my bones

and there’s a cash machine spitting by my shoulder.

 

Your strange demand to collocate my mind

scares me into gloom.

The hangman plays the mandolin

before he goes to sleep,

before he sweeps the pillow clean.

He dreams our weapons were the tongues

of crying rage

and his, a phallus in pigtails.

I tell him,

Put your helmet on.

I got eyes in my backside

and I’m stepping through the door.

And as the sunrise stream flickers on me,

no purse of token fortune stands in our way

and my spaceship knows which way to go.

 

We burnt one hundred days,

and I still hold some ashes to me.

I can’t touch your name—it burns my wall with time,

unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed,

but I paint that love upon a white balloon

and fly it from the toppest top of all the tops.

 

 

 

Which album should I work with next?

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