Sunday, May 24, 2009

Sunday Morning

We lay together after sex, dead angels

Throwing my cap in the air

Daffodils, Catkins, Pussy-Willows

Sunlight and shallow water

A snake slithered over my book

Praise turns to dust

I know how to build a canoe

Such a small wound

Is there anything sadder than fallen houses?

The buses couldn’t make it up Caerau Road, the men got off to push

Their children

Miss Duffner and Miss Wilce, they were, were…

Amaretto, poems, fire

Thank-you for the photographs. Is that really me?

We can start at the top and work our way down

Mrs Bartholemew, Oh, Mrs Bartholemew

Outside it’s raining


I am hungry, I have clothes.

In German, “clever” is an insult


My shirt that scares of flies

You wallow in your folly

Tom Evans beats his wife and she is silent

It is dark up there

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