The god loss Remember the little god who stood up to sleep, strolled across lawns mimicking ducks. They say he beat back books, charged per syllable with
Apples and cheese I wouldn’t make much of a ploughman given I don’t like apples or cheese. In bed I’d unshirt him enjoy all the things and then like beer off a dog’s lip
They are killing all the citizens Mrs Wig She prefers to root cut the spring onions. The chick peas in their little coats que up to cook. Knifing pears she scores the counter
Generation plastic pearl I kicked over a hedgehog bringing you lamb, gardenias, pears. You wiped up my tears with kitchen cloth and sat me down on the stairs.
The courts are actually not very fair on matters missing out letters pulling the plug hole and then the bum skin sticks in and the whole thing about newsprint