Monday, 24 September 2007

Monday Prompts 07:40

Come on then, my sweet, let's be cruel tonight

telephone! Telphone for McTravers!

We close the door, shut out all sound

Various problems with the penis


You set the olives down beside the feta

I am the scent of a feather falling from the sky


The funeral empties every farmstead, every farm

Like water finding its level, like dying


She sucked the happiness from his life and left him flaccid


Ripped the heart to bloody gobbets

Love: Modern Theories and Criticism

She has child-bearing thighs and lungs full of dust


Her voice on the phone from a far country

Intelligence and Women: A Short Book

If I could run a mile

From Merseyside, I reckon

There's plenty of maintenance going on

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