Prompts on Saturday
Born on the 4th of July
The sort of thing you'd find in a jar at a freak show
I guess it's a wife-thing
The trees, tall and black seemed to lean
The Things They Carried
There is nothing to see here, nothing.
Do you like pie?
The poison is within, slowly growing, ever blacker
What else to do but weep?
I would walk in his shoes. If I had feet
So I went to the doctor
The graves open and death rises up
Reading about Vietnam
Her hair was straight, her eyes cold as a river
Three boys, a crossbow, a rabbit
Sometimes you slip into the evening, sometimes it slips into you
A good whisky
I will wake again, at around 3:30
The moon is round, has two eyes, a nose and a mouth
I see the colour about you, the light
Oops, that's cracked it.
My father, sitting in the garden, his open-necked white shirt
The darkness of families
There must be a place where things work out