Black Will have black
On nights when the cool air slips in
The colour of bad luck
Inside a chicken is another chicken
She was sixteen, he was twenty
A daydream of horses
Suspended, cantilevered, arched
They would come through the long light
She wanders round their room
City streets awash with noise
I have seen, in neglected corners
My daughter sleeps with a giraffe
The evryday sink, the clutter of dishes
See Son Ticket
I am thinking of marrying the girl from the castle
I dreamt I had buried you
Below, on the pond, the wind shivers
His lamp no longer glows
An eye that doesn't quite look straight
My mother has been travelling it seems
I hate this furniture almost as much as it hates me
I run towards my death, with luck we will miss each other
A teacher stands at a blackboard, seething
I am the car-crash of car-crash TV
The villagers never like you
A bowl of rotten fruit, children
Magisterial
I was ten when they buried you, eleven years too late
Fifty-two dead nurses
Once I saw a man climb a palm tree backwards
I'm waiting for Jerry Anderson by the old wicker gate
Eating peanut paste and onions
The reverse-shredder
Tanned blonde, green dress, hot, hot, night
Why she hates the Japanese
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