There was an old woman who
She woke too soon
There is little grass, dust rises off the playing fields
How wide this bed has become
I am dreaming of simple things, china teacups
There is a pale blue light
I was wondering about Moscow. What do you think?
We could keep chickens
Should I scream or just sigh?
They are cancelling trains everywhere
What about Formica?
Old, bitter, her face at a wet window
I hear the torturer loves his little cat
Cut me a hole
I like it on my allotment. Spuds, Carrots, Beans
Gonna go to town
I would like to be in a book, page 28, the suicide
The occasional festival
Something about paper but I didn't really understand
The thirteenth hour