Not God but a swastika
Daddy I have had to kill you
I think at some point I looked at my father
I came at night to the dark house
I lay the suitcase on Father's bed
It is eighteen years ago
There he is, just where he should be
In those days, when my father was still big
You come to help me measure windows, pelmets, doors
My mother has gone and bought herself a piglet
In the strange quiet I realise
The assitant holds her on the table
It was three o'clock; all day we sat with her
We went in to make love
I would like to watch you sleeping
Once in a room in Blackpool we had to make do
I remember the nights and the sounds of the nights
We could never really say what this was like
Seeing you makes me want to lift my top
The thin goat, staked out in the clearing
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet
Hot Cross Buns
I love you without knowing why, or how, or where
Perhaps you'll tire of me, my love surmises
There is a kind of love called maintenance
Tanner Hop
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