Mother, may I?
An old man sits netting
From a train, boys in a field
This road holds no surprises
I remember thick cream, purloined from silver milk-churns
The president presumes all Americans are moral imbeciles
He chucked it all in, just left one day.
Punnets
I have abandoned the dream kitchen for a low fire
Let me describe it
They are fourteen weeks on Tuesday
A woman drawing, light
SKUA
Cowslip, Marsh Mangold, a boot
I bought a dollar and a half's worth of small red potatoes
Blackberries
Nobody in the lane and nothing, nothing but blackberries
Every year you said it wasn't worth the trouble
It is a recommended exercise, bitter homework.
They will try to silence the press.
It is perfectly all right to continue killing those gooks
Betsy, I am tired.
Here, one can see Oliver Reed's testicles impaled
Since it is absurd to weep, I can only laugh.
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