Since retiring, I have been luxuriating in a daily morning ritual of reading and writing. Recently, that's centred around "Flame", a posthumous collection of Leonard Cohen's poetry, songs, and notes from his journals. But now I'm coming to the end.
I am saying goodbye to Leonard
he's been a good friend to me
he doesn't know, and could give a damn
but I'm reading his words for free
They spill out around me and slither and writhe
they go "a thousand kisses deep"
they cause me to feel like a two-bit ham
but I'm reading his words for free
Does anyone know where a poet's soul goes
when it crosses the darkening sea
there's a breadcrumb trail that's been tossed on the waves
but I'm reading his words for free