When I write I think of that bent poet’s line, “while others are sleeping I’m lifting a mountain with rivers of poems running off”.
I’m squatting on A black cloud Over Melbourne, And I only get down by Lightning.
I’m usually up There because I’m lonely, And I often miss The last train out of Spencer Street.
I like clouds, I feel safe In them, and I can walk around naked, And no one Can look at me.
I’m in my Clothes now, People can look at me. I’ve got this sty, And I look away when I order my McMuffin and coffee.
And this girl I met Said she liked me. She bought me A scarf, I couldn’t even Thank her And ran away.
If I’m destitute I pay the rent, If I’m insane I converse with them, And all is Not lost.
The dam is dry down this way, There aren’t many mountains, But I’m trying because it’s All I’ve got.