Doing my ironing this evening, with the iPod on shuffle and ‘Spirit of the Age’ by Hawkwind comes on. I first heard this 28 years ago….Drinking warm lager between sessions at college, growing my hair and loving the smell of two-stroke motorbikes. Times change, hair goes grey, bikes get catalytic converters and vinyl is transformed to something ephemeral that cannot be grasped with hand or flesh. The lyrics of Spirit of the Age are erudite, barking and of course penned by a poet. They still give me an illicit thrill of anticipation and joy every time I hear them. They might not be boy loves girl under a silvery moon, but, this is, genius. Zeitgeist!
I have no flaws to identify
even this doggerel
that pours from my pen
has just been written by
another twenty
telepathic men
it says:
o for the wings
of any bird
other than a battery hen.
80:8 Moving | Still | Blog 
Excellent!