They say money makes the world go round but I think it was spinning long before we ever fucked it up with our money. It seems to be that the people with little or no money spend their time thinking about how to get it and those who have it spend their time thinking about how they can keep it. All seems very stressful to me. Nowadays we need roofs over our heads and food in our mouths and all that comes at a price. I suppose I always preferred being a dreamer to a banker.

ANOTHER MONDAY MORNING

Another Monday morning

Another day was dawning

Another weekend quickly passed

Two days never seem to last

Stared at the toast I’d burned

Threw out the milk that had turned

Just another week ahead

I should have stayed in bed

My heart already began to sink

Quicker than the coffee I tried to drink

Once again I was running late

Knew the bus wasn’t going to wait

My teeth I brushed

And out of the door I rushed

Forgot my tie and my shirt was untucked

All was wrong no matter where I looked

Shoelaces untied and wearing odd socks

I was tired of punching the same old clock

Never wanted a job to keep

But freedom is far from cheap

Greeted by my boss

Who told me he was at a loss

Said it didn’t seem like my heart was in it

I said “no shit, I quit”

He asked what I meant

So I told him I was only ever trying to pay my rent

He asked if I had another job in the pipeline

I told him I’d be just fine

He wanted to know what I was going to do

So I said I’d written a poem or two

Maybe I’d go and write some more

He’d never seemed to have heard those words before

I’d given all I could give

It was time to go outside and live

He asked me how I’d stay fed

When poetry’s long been dead

My friend I’m tired of this living hell

Besides poetry is alive and well

If no-one reads the words I write

I could disappear into the night

Find myself some place to go

Pick all the right numbers on the next lotto

I could take all my hope and pity

Put it on a bus to Atlantic City

Depending how lucky I feel

I could bet my life on a roulette wheel

Could buy a metal detector

Find me an old coin and sell it to a collector

If all seemed to be lost

I could go to Loch Arkaig like Garnet Frost

Search for Bonnie Prince Charlie’s gold in the highlands

Or I could sail to North Carolina Ocracoke Island

Or find myself lost on Plum Point or Teach’s Kettle

Maybe even find a place to settle

Some place I could find some pleasure

Living off Blackbeard’s missing treasure

Now there’s no office walls left to smother me

I’m free to make some kind of discovery

No-one would laugh at me again

If I was the one who found the chest of Forrest Fenn

I’d no longer be disregarded or ignored

If I was the one who discovered St. Albans Hoard

Well I no longer give a damn

I’m searching for whatever’s left of Black Sam

And I can only hope to God

There’s more to be found than the Whydah Gally off the coast of Cape Cod