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Toothless, she kisseswith fleshy lipsrounded, like mouthof a bottle, all wet
She bruises your facealmost, with twoloving tree-root hands.
Midnight. A knock at the door.Open it? Better had.Three heavy cats, mean and bad.
It is midnight in the ice rinkAnd all is cool and still.Darkness seems to hold its breathNothing moves, until
When I was bornI was a familiar,a black cat, Satan’s favourite form.
We finished with a song on the football pitchSinging all along on the football pitch Had a little sing with a sing-song-singHad a little fling with a ding-dong-ding
The phone ringsBut never long enoughFor the Slow Man.
By the timeThe set’s switched onHis favourite programme’s over.
This morning I've got too much energymuch too much for geography
I'm in a high moodso class don't think me crudebut you can stuff latitude and longitude
My Wipwapwop, it cost a lotI keep it up my sleeveit's great for surfing on the spotand playing make believe.It's sleek and snug and mine to hug
In the beginning was the wordand the word is ours:
the names of places,the names of flowers,the name of names,words are ours.
Zoe ZoeYou had to goeI felt so sad, I wrote this poe.