Custom (First Lines)

By | 1 July 2009

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

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