And we would sit under the Lebanese night
And discuss politics and literature in the darkness
Where shrouded figures sat at tables talking, but not seeing.
Because of him I read Burmese Days and heard of Trotsky
And the perpetual revolution that remained still-born.
Later we would amble over to the Albion Hotel, and drink
Our beers, and talk with the gangsters, philosophers, pimps, and junkies.
In that night when chaos reigned a girl jumped on stage
Inviting all the thieves to a party somewhere deep in Carlton.
The night was empty of stars save neon popping streetlights
That left our minds smouldering in the incendiary haze.
We smoked hash as the night blurred like a carousel.
Inside the small house we sat around with young men and women.
Uniformed police smoked from a hookah, stoned immersed in
Cairo Nights and apocalyptic visions still to come.
And my heart pounded
And my head exploded
With the colours of a million covenants
Lost somewhere in Carlton.