I dreamed a young man had broken into the house and was sitting on the stairs. He was a timid young man- not the least bit dangerous- but he really didn't want to leave. I'd push him out the doors (which were the French windows of my childhood home) and he'd push right back in.
The BBC was celebrating Elton John last night. Funny, nerdy little Reg Dwight may well have been the prototype of the young man in my dream. I like Elton- not his music particularly, but that whole Elton thing he's got going. Apparently he's the most successful male solo artist ever. How strange. Here's a poem I wrote about him a decade ago.
ELTON JOHN IN MADISON SQUARE GARDEN
Never pretty. Now with that thatch
He looks like a country cottage, squat
With eaves to the ground. Don’t get me wrong.
I love this guy. He’s such a Pickwick.
Blimey, how he rocks New York;
He stirs it like a cup of tea.