Uncurled, unfurled, a story from the sky
I reached up and pulled a story from the sky
A big stretch
It starts in the middle of poor sod's muddle (You have such big arms)
Homesick for what? (All the better to tame me)

The sheep search the grasses, their heads down in the sway
The sailors search the oceans deep, compass and astrolabe
"Oh where the stars that light their path? In the city they're on poles that light the road.."
Hello rosebay willowherb,
Tarmac and railway lines
The solace of

Small ad obscenities in this bucolic fantasy
Oh throw me soft from tree to tree
And feel the moon pull elastically
The new (nude?) sea bathes my town toes, it flicks my city feet
But I am not welcome here and once again desirous to leave.

Am I a bad man, am I?
40 years round the sun and still nowhere's home to lie.

What's become of Nick since he gave us all the slip?
Choosing distant mountainscapes not pacing up and
Down through Camden Town
He ran away to join some circus
The last we heard he said:
"Come for I have found the clue I sought so long
Nourished henceforth by my celestial dreaming"
And "Poems vaguely wafting, lilting in night air
Uncaught, unwritten."
"What makes this ship run us so fast to ground?"

What is the foolish boy doing?
Clinging to life as if death too shall die?

"We saw him go over the Alps alone."

(Stealings from: Browning, Whitman, John Hardwick, Hans Christian Anderson)