The production line has not been idle

take something sharp

She and the fire

Your lover has been made in Sri Lanka

My skin pores and lets you in like

He will not be delivering the Kenneth Koch memorial lecture in person,

Remb

A Maoist is reading a map

Crazily it shone – the moment that formed his desire. Somewhere in

the hard drive a still hum, a natural pilot light

The woman with the styrofoam cup and no teeth

I hold the darkness this time

In the thin place between the word and the thing,

lies at the next turn, a sign says,

As the key sticks I can't write,

Clouds Hopkins across the blue page.

Thou art 2 ezy on th i. I do

Falling for you, or at least in front of you,

Country | Number of Deaths | Cause

you have that white chocolate

walk with me along the pathway of analog lovers

The cattle grid jolted him back; it was where the green

one in two men like jelly.

i met andrew xs editor but

My foot on the wood and the heat surging through it

The money spider crosses a hand.

Every day Abba Paul plaited a new basket,

there'll be no billy ocean

From my father I got

in the yoga class, breathing Ardha Padmasana,

He'd hated her old handbag

This Berryman's a moralistic thing:

Every landscape painting is a left eye's worth

someone's shout become

what wakes me some outside

In a forest of blue trees it's easy to feel lost.

When he reads me, I'm reading him

We write beneath the noise of men

Could anyone be bothered pressing these

I didn't mean to be an artwork,

Sometimes, not enough,

i thought

Holds 1000 litres save every drop of your precious rainwater

successful poetry

He slipped through the curtains