These eyes are the windows to my soul,

Before them Piccadilly dreams unfold.

This city of freedom, of future, of fame.

I catch a dream, catch a pathway, a plane,

I got Piccadilly mapped upon my skin.

I got her reflection shining out from within.

I got my coffee to go in the place I stay.

I got what’s coming tomorrow, today.

I got all that I need here in the palm of my hand.

Every time Piccadilly grows, I expand.

Reflected in these windows, the eyes to my soul,

The discovery, the cave of gold.

I got Piccadilly in my heart, in my veins.

I get high from her hope, from her name,

From the mirrored buildings that scrape the sky.

I got the hard sell and the good buy.

I got it all here. I got it all at my fingertips.

I let the words flower from my tongue’s tip.

I got this city mapped into my skin.

I take it all easy but I take it all in.

I got these pathways, these patterns within.

I take it all easy. I take it all in.

I hear the sound of hope, its truest tone.

I got Piccadilly. I got the city. I got home.

I got this A to Z in my head. It’s like I said,

Here are my waking dreams, my bed.

I got these reflections of outside, within,

I take it all easy. I take it all in.

I got these designs inside my mind,

I got the power of reason, of the line,

I got all that I need here in the palm of my hand.

Every time Piccadilly grows, I expand.

Some Things I Like

Some Things I Like

(A poem to shout)

I like wrecks, I like ex-junkies,

I like flunks and ex-flunkies,

I like the way the career-less career,

I like flat beer,

I like people who tell half stories and forget the rest,

I like people who make doodles in important written tests,

I like being late. I like fate. I like the way teeth grate,

I like laceless shoes, chordless blues,

I like the one-bar blues,

I like buttonless coats and leaky boats,

I like rubbish tips and bitten lips,

I like yesterday’s toast,

I like cold tea, I like reality,

I like ashtrays, I write and like crap plays.

I like curtains that don’t quite shut,

I like bread knives that don’t quite cut,

I like rips in blue jeans,

I like people who can’t say what they mean,

I like spiders with no legs, pencils with no lead,

Ants with no heads, worms that are half dead.

I like holes, I like coffee cold. I like creases in neat folds.

I like signs that just don’t know where they’re going,

I like angry poems,

I like the way you can’t pin down the sea.

See.

The Lost Key

The Lost Key