He climbs inside
Saint Vincent’s bin
Clutching stolen rosary beads
To his chest
Coughing blood
He prays the rain
Won’t spoil his temporary bed
The weather report satellite
Beams information
To the brain behind his eyes
Collected by the receiver
In Vincent’s secret head
In the shadow of a famous man
He’s getting married tomorrow
To a headless mannequin
In a David Jones window
She’s gorgeous
Silent
A little on the shy side
She’ll make him a fine wife
Make him halfway happy
A devoted
Headless
Selfless bride
In the arms of a famous man
He bought her a gold ring
From a bubble-gum machine
He hopes she’ll understand
Now he’s chewing
On the potential for romance
But the sweetness is fading
Blowing bubbles
In an op-shop can
In the heart of a famous man
In the morning he’ll buy vodka
Followed by some red
He’ll scrounge for durries
In the ashtrays
Of a million
Pension pay days
Drinking metho with the dead
In the soul of a famous man
Big spender!
Lashing out on used Christmas cards
From a souvenir garbage bin
To send to a family mess
That he can almost remember
For a reason to forget
He misses his mother everyday
He can’t remember her address
In the mind of a famous man
Where did the good times go?
They are somewhere between the spaces
Somewhere after the holocaust
The last of the mental breakdowns
In the bottom of an empty bottle
In the hand-me-downs
Falling from the sky
All over Vincent’s dust-mite bed
They are somewhere rattling
Like lucky dice
In a lonely dreamer’s head
