Friday, January 15, 2016

Poem: On the Deaths of Alan Rickman and David Bowie

Close My Eyes.
Then, Closetland.
And of course Stardust was always there.
Not sure when it entered my mental world.

And yet, strangely,
I am not devastated.
Not sure why the lack of devastation.
Not that I want to be devastated..
but yeah, wondering

I'm at peace.
Perhaps it's age
the now-common death of close friends and older celebs
normal occurrences now.

Younger folks wonder
why the grief for Bowie:
they've never heard of him.

At the same time, other actors much older
are dying or have died
--90 year olds etc--
whom those now mourning Bowie
never heard of.

So yes a daily occurrence,
at my age.
At my age, death is numbing.

Once in a great while
there is this terrifying squeal
a strange overflow of grief
from my own mouth
from my own heart
which leaves me amazed.

And I think:
how strange this grief!
I didn't know this death
would devastate me so much.
I cried so much when Orson Welles died
I thought my heart would break.

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