Friday, June 05, 2009
They have killed a white bird
The woman was in a barn
I’ve put him on the transfer-list
They have filled the wells with bodies
One summer thirty years ago
Have you watched a bird kill a bird?
Streets where front doors touch the road
The softest, blackest, most beautiful bat
Talking to God is called praying; the other way round is schizophrenia
A busload of journalists burning, the firemen watching
I have dedicated myself to drink
Those who came before us
Drop the sword and use sharp words
I am blue and my friends are blue
A crap poem about a wheelbarrow
First is expectation
I am the man who holds up the shield when the women come
And nothing changed except perspective
Last night I dreamt I went to Basingstoke again
A place to suck a buck
I have accidentally started. An avalanche
Hitler and various popes, dead.
The leaf, which does not know it is a leaf, is upon a tree.