Howling, prowling, yowling Baby Dykes, stalkin' chicks, throwin' fits, takin' hits! A thousand thigh divin', rosebud nipped, fur licking dancin' cats, (Claws in, claws out! Yes!) sniffin' that cradle of love.

I spent the evening looking at our old pictures. / We were never happy. I realize that now.

Guttering semiotics, The jeremiads of delirium; Drinking lukewarm tea over a late candle Like Hamlet in a power-cut; Affecting his own audience of himself, Hastening soliloquies through gritted sophisms, Withered and spun to intentional…

You read my poems, Not because you like them, But just to find yourself, Mentioned in them.

And pity us, this generation of sighing:

Richard gets me started, tells me to undress the two women mannequins in the storefront window

One afternoon the kids from next door come over. Marion is our age, Jimmy a year younger. Marion's pretty. I can't even look at her.

Samson was also somewhat in hopes that his son Jason would become engaged in this minor capitalist enterprise and 'turned around' in his life.

I liked her when I first saw herShe came to meI liked her hair and body and eyesBu there was something wrong with Her teethScarred beautyI hit it off with her easily at the barThe others didn't like herShe was a cookShe told me about her narcolepsy, ADHD, Tourettes…

Ships tumble, cars crash, horns gulp water, bombs burst up from the ground in a halo of screams.

After it is over, I go out into the world, to the café. The flower sellers are setting up their booth outside the glass doors. Classical guitar over the speakers. A soft rain falling. Heads bowed, reading the news. Coffee, croissants, cappuccino. This g

The white and yellow are sublime and desperately powerful, like angry screaming over tears and through laughter or hatred. Maybe the words are about crying or laughing, but the expressions are altogether impenetrable and distant. The jokes told behind the teeth and through…

We’re on The Worm. I dread the part where the train goes under the bay. I hold my breath until we safely emerge.

The first days of October are ordinary in the way that milk just hours away from spoiling is ordinary milk. You can baptise your cornflakes with it, but part of you knows the whole thing is just shy of almost right.

Professor Immanuel Danda finished his Ph.D. at 21, which, according to most of his friends and a few of his enemies, makes him a genius, though, personally, he always found himself to be a scruffy loser, if one were to believe, above all else, the mirror