Thursday, February 05, 2009

Thursday Prompts

Somewhere towards the end

My father, digging, his ears red, his head

I think of you continuously, things remind me


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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