Not where she said she'd be
For all the good it will do
August in Brittany
Yes, this is my voice, this is my face
They are Red Kites, see the tail?
We used to have big blocks of it. Sixpence, I think
Slowly the dust rises
Next week is a roll-over
Balancing on the Edge of a Word
An Evil Cradling
Mummy, Look! A MONSTER!
Forced smiles on a hundred pink-faced women;
Men is sports-jackets and open-necked shirts
My parents don't know everything
You can have a life, I'll have books
Midnight at the oasis
I regret a whole fucking lotta things
I'm fixing a hole
Dirty British Miner with his clean shop-steward
O for the muse of fire!
Sweet flesh but soured