Curtains, yellow, sofa, green.
She sleeps, her muscles softened
The world dives to truth and lies - both sides identical
If she wakes up we'll have to talk
Barefoot
Blessing the arrow as it flies
Without any violence, just the weight
Photos of a dead wife
Many cold bedrooms, many open doors
My cupboard full of masks
I worry about mellowing
Of course I'm sweating. it's hot in here!
Sad emails from Ireland
Empty houses sigh, then slowly eat themselves
I didn't like the way he spoke or the fact he spoke at all
20,000 to 80,000 in three days. Impressive!
Room, after room, after room.
At the top of the stairs, beneath the attic hatch
Here, take a flower.
When I was dead (I mean the second time)
A band of naked drummers rattling forth
That is the past, the baited bears, the public hangings
Lytham-St-Annes, more-or-less.
Butter to the throat and other myths
I can tell the story of this place, the village, town, now
We are going. No, really
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