top of page
  • Writer's pictureMarc A. Brimble

Call Me Dave

David Bowie 

came to me 

in a great big dream. 

I’d just finished talking with Salvador Dali,

he’d been teaching me how to make a million

by signing empty sheets of paper. 

He’d left all his stuff 

hanging around. 

I said 

“Mr. Bowie, sorry ‘bout the mess”

He said 

“Hey brother, call me Dave” 

He threw his guitar into the air 

spinning, spinning 

it shattered into a hundred stars. 

“Look isn’t that beautiful?” 

he said. 

I had to agree. 

I hadn’t seen anything as beautiful

since I’d seen a Sorolla 

burning in the middle of Madrid. 

We stayed a while, 

watching the falling stars 

floating to the ground like butterfly wings,

until he caught one 

in his open white hand 

and passed it to me, 

smiling from his eyes. 

“Art is nothing more than this” 

he said.


Marc lives in Spain, and when he’s not teaching English, he likes drinking tea and thinking about the shadows.


bottom of page