The road blurred in the storm
when we drove home last December...
I am happening
as I look at my watch...
Space is as the result of our disunion
the scatter of our holy communion...
As she wrapped her
arms around my waist...
It was always drilling in his brain,
_the woodpecker of the clock...
The fruit to die for:
The apple of neighbour’s bough...
Kettle quickly boils,
letting me make my coffee...
Days are sliding away in disdain,
let fall...
A freak hailstorm of
proposition, makes you...
Tunes of Glory
Where does the truth lay...
The smell of you lingers inside that very van that...
The only thing I have left of you...
so, Susie, supposed this soul
was shes to squeeze as she please...