there was a time when I was very passionate about music
so enthralled was I - that when choosing the things that mattered -
those things that would be as homeless as myself -
my collection of LPs were the first thing in the car -
all four hundred of them - each one a stoned memory -
each one a reminder of hours in the record shop
fingers flicking the cardboard sleeves
working my way through the second hand collection
until something - undefinable - made my grab it - and pay
there was no sense to this collection - it was like a bad party -
grace slick beethoven linda carter the smiths bob dylan
camper van beethoven lemonheads bach maria callas -
the seating plan would have been a nightmare -
and ironic to think of those great stars sleeping in my boot
when I lived in a tent and worked nights in factory
and dreamed of room with electricity to give them breath
but that is the beauty of music - even when not played -
it stays within you - yes I am the walrus and the times are changing
and rocky mountain high summed up those sunny afternoons
when I unzipped myself and looked out in preparation
for another night shift in hell
The Blue Book
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