Wednesday, December 23rd, 2020

12:49

Why can’t slippers be cool?

True Evil

We could got to Cornwall for love, to Wales

Her daily bottle of stout

I am walking up your road

The breath thickens, there are pauses

The man who had Hermes

Alone in a cheap hotel

The smell of polished wood

Raspberries, Strawberries

Our daughter, snuffling in our bed

Four fields, all colours, and I in the cross between

The smack and heft of the perfect catch

A man called Thomas died here

Gestation Period

I have climbed that!

ECLIPSE The places where I’ve failed to grow

I dream of train-wrecks, airplanes crashing

Jennifer Nasty, in the name of Christ

The gymnast in love

It’ll end in tiers

The crude engravings on the desk

Burnt sugar, sawdust, organs, bells

Not about her father

She smelt of biscuits, milk, unusual thoughts

Dear Mother: it is New Year’s Day