Dilated, towering, charged with sex, glammed and electric
amongst sweat and tears, mystery and ecstasy;
this carnal vessel of your own creation. A secret junkie friend,
to confide in through the dark times. A beacon of
pure cosmic rays, you blast through the enigma of ambiguity
and play all the yes-men, the Pierrot’s of pantomime.
Sexual androgyny in a taboo society, you broke down barriers
for a generation born of sobriety. Exploding my life like
an atom bomb, all glitter and style and far-out sounds.
A leper messiah, the thin white duke, you danced through
the hordes, fed them metamorphose incarnations to satiate their thirst,
roaming through wilderness, your evocation from station to station.
‘Plastic Soul’, electro hit-man, laying down smooth grooves,
far removed from your early mimes and novelty gnome.
Born to be a bright star, died to be a Blackstar. Transporting us
from this lonely exile, our uniqueness, obliqueness, our weirdness,
who we really are, our beautiful complexity – our iconic saviour.
Time takes a cigarette, but waits for no man. No rock ‘n’ roll suicide
for the man who fell to earth, but an earthly illness absorbed the life-force
of this otherworldly being. Knowledge comes with death’s release,
so fall silent and contented like Ziggy, Aladdin and the Duke.
Journey back to stars of sweet solace where your next mission awaits.
Panegyrics echo your deeds from the Vatican to Berlin, a world mourns
the loss of a hero, a survivor, an innovator; in life as in death
you were the work of art to challenge thought and expectation.
Soar high into that crystal blue sky, bold bluebird.