The babies, combs, ribbons
We gathered at night, drifting in
A T-Bone steak for a dime
The winter evening settles down
We were living in trees, but we were living
Sometimes there comes, as if of darkness made
We club the children, not for sport, but they breed so, and their skins
Why has that gentleman fallen, does he eat the earth?
Horrible Headline 13
A bouquet, there is no question, simmering mussels, and somewhere, sex
I wondered lonely and all that shit
I have trouble with my nerves
Hug a plastic tree
What kind of staircase would Madam like?
There's this way, that way, which way
I am a dot, not like the other dots. Really