Yesterday in the city where the poetry was steaming like it’d been
excreted just before I stepped in it. Too much coffee in the blood left me
buzzin’ like a road drill, everything suddenly smelling of house paint,
too twitchy to listen, too unfocused to read. Watching the world flash
on a one-stop train, everything slower than the inside of my brain.
Watching sunrise to calm down, listening to acoustic chimes from
brother Ross Grainger out in rainy Cardiff where it rained so long
& hard one year all our clothes went mouldy. They got full sunlight
here in Sarf Essex, to draw that coffee poison out, let the healing power o
f music set the tone for something new to happen. Don’t ask me why, but
Randy Newman’s living in my head.