An arresting face, perfectly symmetrical
An empty rocker on a porch that creaks at night
And invite the queen
Blue sky to the south but elsewhere dark
Flesh Fish and Wine
Gone With the Wind
He takes the breadknife and smiles
I am sick of waiting to die!
I cannot describe his eyes
I drill a hole in the mountain and then
I should have stood up and said it was me
Late at night, secretly eating
I think of you again, I just can't help it
Marching songs and other such tricks
In less than an hour, when this is over
Like a Russian shot-putter
Long grey hair to his shoulder
Of twisted trees and pain
Philip can come too, anyone
She had her mother's delicacy but her father's acid wit
She was not beautiful but we thought she was
She was under no illusions about him
So he laid siege to her, for however long it took
Some people think I can fly
Sweet memories, occasionally real
The boy is on a bike, the hill is steep
The dog emaciated
The heroism of tiny mammals
The teacher repeats it
Two fingers
We'll spend it all in one extravaganza
What about your God now?
Write 100 times...
A man stood swaying outside a decrepit restaurant
A ripe peach
A room stinking of excrement
We decide to have a party
The children won't come down
The sweet flesh of a baby pig
Why hadn't you thought of this before?
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