Somewhere towards the end
My father, digging, his ears red, his head
I think of you continuously, things remind me
SALT
The dull glow of miners' lamps, the smell of oil
I have nothing to sell but it's all half-price
Lovers: isn't the point that it's for now?
Hazard Warning
Blue, glorious, and through the white
Chink, slither.
My son went there twice but could not find it
I remember the ones I didn't marry
It's cold but warms up quickly
I woke up in a shop-doorway; someone had pissed on me
Various problems with invisibility
They are coming: I must paint myself blue
Persistent Vegetative State
The eggs not used, the eggs not used
In the not-too-distant-future, if all my dreams come true
Dogs, Snow
The sand slips away
My daughter, the barren one, sews by the oil-light
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