The Corner House
Let the blood-sucking bat
We will not remember dying
Twelve hours, give or take a week
Planes explode
Between the belly and the mind
Onion
I am finely honed beneath this
You can be my furry godmother
Chapel
You are neither bread nor knife, nor are you butter
Sin-Eater
I think they killed him off because he was fat
Mud so black with coal it burned
Touch me, remind me
We tripped lightly along the ledge
Thin, flat battery
It’s about time, or God, it varies
This is the hard-work part of love
I only claim for the four homes
You can die
Behind the ropes like the seagulls
Castor Oil & Malt
Cello
The first sound, the last thing I will see
Seems the Normans were right bastards
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