This is a strange old time to write
Gone well past midnight
Waiting for the early morning late night flight
There’s drinks and smokes
And artichokes for the well at heel
For me the writing hours is how I steal
I’ve read Mr Bukowski
And the Hippocrates oath
They’ve both travelled well, truth to tell
But this new book I’ve bought, I was caught
By the slip notes and the cover
Huysmans’ ‘A Rebours’ boy that’s something other
His worldly ways are leading me, kneading me
I’ll start with Edgar Allen Poe, or Paul Verlaine
Then on to Flaubert and Baudelaire
Oh he’s stolen my every picture
As he passed this way
Before he passed away
But Joris Karl Huysmans he has not gone
No not gone
Only gone and put me in the clear
