Crush or be crushed, 17 summer
Lusting to trust, we'll sing
Four white smoke stacks saw you standing alone
On a platform
Oh what tangled sheets we wove
Open the oven door, heat
There's an open emotion that motion releases.
The car reads
On a river where old money clings to the banks
There’s
There will be no further comment
No defiant fist will lift
These
Somewhere my body holds the memory of our tactile poetry
All
In a well-to-do arcade
The private schoolgirl sings "The Internationale"
Without
No one's really watching from the 6.34 train
As the evening
I awoke all hung withdrawn and sordid.
If eyes are
Thousands of words in the neatest of hands
Notes about shopping
It was as if the bay had woken up
and
I kick the sand on your beach and shout into
A whole year gone by so quick
Itching eyes and the
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