PROMPTS

We have swung too many cats in here

The Black Album

We need to come to an understanding

There may be a mild reaction

The Mass is Ended

A mix of poets and balloons

Certain parts of this have been falsified

Something bitter on the tongue

Snow, in so many different ways

In the middle of the bridge

Eggs, milk, a little detergent

The weight of your piano

Hell’s Angels books have lots of chapters

There are various body parts

Slowly the mood turns darker

A few small monsters to deal with

A green light blinking across the bay

For the want of a nail

Close all doors and windows

As the earth is compacted

Sweet faces, black hearts

Helga hides things in her wooden leg

River of Lies

The bulbs begin to flicker

There are other aspects with which I am not familiar

Rooms full of thunder

Hags, Witches, Bastards