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
Peek-a-boo
You set the olives down beside the feta
I am the scent of a feather falling from the sky
LEATHER
The funeral empties every farmstead, every farm
Like water finding its level, like dying
GRAPES
She sucked the happiness from his life and left him flaccid
MOUSE-TRAP
Ripped the heart to bloody gobbets
Love: Modern Theories and Criticism
She has child-bearing thighs and lungs full of dust
BERI-BERI
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
Monday, 24 September 2007
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment