motel room
cars drive by
brisbane stormy, rainy childe
look in the mirror
fiddle with my guitar
someone rings up
hi steve he says
someone walks around on the floor above
i practice my leonard songs
its lonely this life
must do my yoga
eat muesli n soy milk
drink grape juice
listen to ambient music
do yoga n qi gong
go to venue
do songwriting gig
yeah yeah yeah
i inhaled and i talked for an hour
songwritings this n that
i alternate between confident professor
and shy fool
i open my mouth and the words come forth
something nicely drives the machine
even if im not at the wheel
we answer some q n a
come back to motel
get an angry call from manager about “smoking” in my room
it was incense but hes pretty incensed himself
hes right…i shouldna done it
i meekly n quietly apologise
he can hear hes getting thru n he calms down
he tells me how its his living
and how the rooms should have no smell
once again hes right
i assure him there will be no more smoke of any kind
he seems satisfied and hangs up
i open all windows let this unsatisfied afternoon into my room
out there cabs cruise and kids come outta school
im not part of anything
the vertigo of my apart-ness fills me with nausea
the luxury of it all is absurd
i cant get a fix on who im supposed to be
the olde kilbey continues to crumble…
who is waiting under there ready to pop out?