Eat Our Dust Poetic-like Indiegogo Post 15

I only ever heard Bowie on the radio so only considered his music as my own heart

Eat Our Dust

Awakening, first I know the
soles of my feet are yet with me.
Another morning, digital stretching
across and back again to lead
the pack to greet and
awaken my ankles *pop*
tendons stretch to life
toes arise to their purpose
to stretch up me my mighty,
mighty calves  muscles who
hold in store each important
new lesson learned, relevant
to, and capable of adding to
or changing my prime equation.

 Leg lifts, my own prescribed

hemi-circumferential manner and
then in Bokomon form, gently
breathing, and working gluts and
abdominals for good health
without showing, but to
support back and vital digestive
tract and bowels. Spine, alive as
long as I am, and so much it keeps
me my health and comfort that never
is it outside consideration, for in
every movement or lift or twist,
these constitute an aggregate,
Don Juan Matus points out, it
hangs over us as a loaded gun.
Only are my teeth and gums perhaps
more vital to my life’s heath
maintenance. Always taking for
granted my cardio-pulmonary
and respiratory functions, cared
for by slight effort, with care in diet
and exercise.

 Neurological aspect shifts

seamlessly from dream state
to base perception.
All systems functioning,
prayer commences, outside
temperature detected and
chronological aspect estimated,
first appointed obligation
recalled, all in seconds.
My mind slows, the world stops (as if)
what calm I may achieve
comes on in the morning cycle
of intended accomplishment.
Time expands or contracts
as I require, so to reach the
shower at a convenient
interval, most days. Thus
I am equipped to my suffering
each day and that each I embrace

as a lover. I am silently

a great artist, the richest
man alive as far as I can see,
My spaceship is the Earth;
and I am driving. My
love will never die it is
fueled by my rock ‘n roll
soul, and  with my own ten 
year olds persona always right
with me, along beside my death,
poking death to distraction
behind my left shoulder
close, or back trailing always.
Eat our dust.

Amen

Put a back beat behind that high hat, up tempo and here are the roots of my soul