At their height
the veins in these hands
looked like power cords,
like ridge lines
on the moon
pumping blood
from the heart
to the fingers,
swollen blue
but now, more
summertime worms
scarcely seen,
dried up,
bloodless:
there,
it happened:
your life got lived
by you
or
no one.
Berlin, Feb. ’16
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Categories: poetry
Bill Pearse 
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Hey thanks Ross! Wrote that a bit ago, scraped it out of the Draft file.
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I’m gonna start a draft file 🙂
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That’s funny. It is nice when you go back to something you were stuck with, to make a few changes and feel it’s done. Doesn’t happen often but grateful when it does of course!
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Not listened to Black Star, though in light of Bowie’s death (can that really be a year ago?) and the subject matter, I’m guessing it’s not a cheerful listen. Still, there’s truth in your words – easy to let life pass us by, waiting for the better days to come, not realising these are the good days until it’s too late. Great stuff
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You should listen. I put it off a very long time then was amazed and moved when I listened to it. Seems there’s never a good time to “go there” so why not winter right? That Bowie…not as much a fan of his work as I am him, the artist and advocate for the underdog, the different. A real inspiration. Thanks or reading Lynn. Bill
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He certainly was an inspiration for anyone feeling like an outsider or different in anyway. Made people feel they could be themselves. I’ll give the album a go at some point, I’m sure. And always a pleasure to read your work Bill
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