Swerving east, from rich industrial shadows
Cat, Microwave...
For I have known them already, known them all
SCRAWL
This was Mr Bleaney's room
He was a pederast, but discreet
After the novels, after the tea-cups, after the skirts that trail along the floor
Fond of bananas
She kept her songs, they took so little space
NAIL!
These with a thousand small deliberations
The acidity of milk
Slowly the women file to where he stands
LIVER
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn
The note you hold, narrowing and rising
My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad! Stay with me.
Home is so sad, it stays as it was left
And the night fires going out, the lack of shelters
All afternoon, through the tall heat
And I was travelling lightly, barefoot
And the money he gets from wasting his life on work
Hard to believe him when he trundles in, scrubbed up and squeaky-clean
The large cool store selling cheap clothes
They set about him with a knife and fork
Strange to know nothing, never to be sure
Anyone here had a go at themselves, for a laugh? Anyone opened their wrists with a blade in the bath?
The leaves fall in ones and twos
Blessed are dogs, for they shall run over busses
On the third night, footsteps in the attic-space
When it comes to nailing down the lid
I rate myself as a happy, contented person
The minute in the phone box with the coin
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