Boys on red motorbikes, racing with news
Brutal as a three a.m. call
Does nothing cast a shadow, does death weigh?
Graffiti, however you spell it
Hilltop after hilltop
Is the room empty or full of invisible people?
Lie in darkness, consider your ignorance
Make me up a highball with round ice cubes
My cheat is tight with remembrance, crawling with guilt
My wife eats a Chinese meal
Now and Then
Now death comes with a jingle
Once the police rang and a huge black telephone jangled
Perhaps something comic, and no tears of the clown to follow
Take your passport, in case
The earth still spins
The shell-skin of a long-gone snake
These are not cheerful enough
This is a story I really have to tell
Tussle for a minute then give in
We could take turns screaming
Who lives in a house like this?
Without a history, what kind of story?
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