Supermarkets of the cosmos I adore you!
cummings knew he was wrong
Some considerable disturbance in my verbiage
Misery can end. Death can not.
This mute air of lacking trust
Sometimes it is a bowl of soup.
Purporting to defend her husbands honour!
A sign from God that he should abandon the sport entirely.
Even today I am given to fits of barking.
If some one happened to expire suddenly but peacefully everybody scored a point.
A vast and unexpected land mass.
Meanings chilled in the fridge of fatuity.
The sticky underside of a cake wrapper.
The process of aggrandisement is indeed ego-driven.
A part of me is crying Flee! Flee!
This last accessory to my childhood delusion of a family united.
Unknown.
The thought of Monroe's tiresome cooking.
The newsreader, Trevor MacDonald.
You are in breach of your contract with us.
To retell it any other way would be a terrible injustice.
We might savour the gale that blows through the trees.
They thumped the air out of his vowels.
What base treachery!
We're principally concerned with the phantasmal variety of spectre.
In a wad of wintry bizarre.
A debt of gratitude and about four pounds seventy six pence.
A smutty lightbulb to read by.
A man who built ships with sails of butterfly wing can hardly be called anything else.
Apparently the beer is warm.
One's lineage is quite a different issue in Africa.
The nature of my interest in that fabulous king.
If he has persisted in this folly then so too does your friend.
How a dog modelled after myself would surely sound.
But all I could see was an old man on a camel playing silly buggers.
I'm quite old enough to decide that I don't want to do it.
A gluttony of wisdom garnered from a life lived as fully as was humanly possible.
You might be forgiven for thinking he did, especially if you've just returned from a conference of zymurgists.
I appear to have written very little at all.
The necessity of meeting the ever undiminshed tide of deadlines.
Take care of your knees!
Your beautiful knees!
A Heaven Above that anyone could seriously imagine waiting for the likes of them.
Why aren't we falling over them in the streets?
The time has come to extract the marrow, as it were, from the matter of Meaf.
By his left leg, no less!
Now he was my captive I aimed to make him sing!
He continued to skulk in the park opposite my house for some time after I had ejected him.
I am keen to be contradicted by readers who are otherwise informed.
Delighting in how it falls so tenderly from the bone.
This no doubt gives you some idea as to his state of mind.
This too is slough.
There's no accounting for my state of mind during such remote periods of my life.
Squatting behind a Tangiers telephone booth concealing a dictaphone in his sock.
The obituary remains unwritten.
Some of the more slippery aspects of Nationhood.
Fifty six in all.