Will.
the rain came downback washing alley waysdrowning men out of holes…the water ran redas people lost skinand a frightened young manlooked down upon his toes…he¹s in danger of getting his
Valeri.
The flesh in my bones is not quite as thick as it used to beSome days I think that the ridges in the tips of my fingers have been worn
Strain.
incomplete and left undonethe chord fragmentedleft unsungcity-born and city-bredI’ll be lucky if I end up quick city dead the rats all mutter in the gutterin the sewer and the rushas
Rob’s Lament.
This space is getting smaller nowin an instant inward goes the frameSchwarzschild would be proudof the compressionof his equations as we tighten up the gripas we tighten up our eyesas
Pocketing.
in the pockets of my jeansare all the things that I might needit’s cash and coins and nails and string I keep my courage in my pocketI keep my armour
Pine.
There’s a beauty to soft woods with knots that untangleeasily by chisel, easier by sawbut press a finger deep and you may even dent the surfacelike talc, parading as a
No Place is Home.
The days are getting cold –Ther’ll be coats this Halloween.All the children are disappointed,all their sequins will go unseen. And the pirates and the goblinswill steal you far away from
the March of the Rabbit
frightened beyond beliefit had no mindthe rabbit brought itself to bearon his whitened eyeit focused, grew in numbersmultiplied keep them running,we keep them running we focused on his headhis brain
Letters from the Front.
I bought a Che Guevara T-shirtand vowed my revolution,But I have yet to wear it –It’s still hanging in my closetbeside the blue jeans I had onwhen we abandoned our
In the Water.
It’s cold down here, but I am used to the chill,And the fish are more friendly now than when at first I fell,And the weeds are quicker to dance than