The children are building gallows
He left his Raleigh chained to railings
They went there optimistic; they came back old
We all have her to thank
She lived with three bastards in the shadow of a quarry
Now we need someone to hang
There were marks on his cheek, a cut to his nose
Heather
The stillness came in
In the night sky above the moor
A room full of plastic bags
We take off our shoes and bow
Losing 1-0 at half-time
I live in a tiny, tiny house
I suppose this is sex, only quieter
My boy wears a German helmet and likes to march
She inhales and keeps it in
I write this knowing of tomorrow
Fed, bathed, zipped up and lullabied
I've thought about living at the dump
I met a group of natives who laughed when they were sad
After the flood
Seven days is almost a week
It was the first time he had ever thought of her like that
In some wilderness; a broken world
Carol, you are late
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