Bitter Blue Balls (1st February, 2009, 6.11pm) At your words, my heart cracks like an ice cube as the gin hits it. Leave the top off, sweetheart, forgo the mixer; let my throat smart.
Critical Understanding (31st January, 2009, 11.21pm) Line up the imperfect lines of poetry against the towering wall of commentary as the critics load, lock, raise their weaponry.
Sad-ism (31st January, 2009, 10.15pm) Dry your tears on your arm. The wetness burns your naked sleeve; this need to make you cry has been growing inside like a weed.