I want to cum all over you  I want to pour my decaying acid  Down your filthy socialist throats  A suffocating man wrote this  As he drowned in his own reality   He was once a good friend of mine 

but nobody listens  nobody cares  esther never smiles 

I look at my pale fingers  These fingers have taken  Three political lives  They have created history  Yet remain unknown 

When I am not Otherwise engaged  In the trenches  I write pornographic poems 

I own a shop in a small Yorkshire village  Which sells up market woollen products Brightly coloured sweaters cardigans and scarves  I call my shop anthropologie It used to be called the white shop  This has confused some of the locals  Who tell me that my shop Has a fucking stupid name 

The libraries of the future  Hold the books  Of yesterday and today  The books of the future  Have yet to be written  Alicia Toffee told me this  On our first date 

Showboat  Showboat Showboat  Showboat  Showboat  Showboat  Deep Throat Deep Throat Deep Throat Deep Throat Deep Throat Deep Throat Drive He Said  She Drove a Coach 

Why Iceland Pierre Because that is what My mummy and daddy called me  It is also far away  From that pesky war It is nearer than you think  What does think mean Jean-Claude  Well it is that thing you do  When you are on a train late at night  I actually play guess the station  That sounds […]

Lucy’s book is full of flowers Sadie’s book is full of towers Rachel’s book is full of bowers Summer garden random showers

The Broker was absolutely full When it arrived arrived at Newark Penn Three students were waiting on the platform But only two them boarded the train Woodbridge 1951