Unshoed, I was travelling, but steadily
Yes, I was hungry
We are in little houses
The way blood flows in the bath, whatever else it’s beautiful
Death-Watchers
I am dancing. Not for money, for the music
Where clocks stop
Boxers once practised on me
Swimming to America
I have my toothbrush, one or two condoms
Out of the blue, could they owe me five hundred?
How cluttered an office gets
We’re all going swimming, apart from the kids and me
I was tricked into living and I regret it
An awful lot of jellyfish
The puff of a flash gun, no other sound like it
The signals come. Only the mad are tuned in
Most of us smile at the machine-gunners; it’s so personal.
Sobbing like a widow over spilt milk
Imagine yourself as my Kryptonite
You haven’t heard the first of this, what you have is impure
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