here be men with heads like lightbulbs
greek tragedy in the cul de sacs
screaming on your mum's doorstep that you are more than the sum of your sins
pretty faces blushed in blood
you pick the glass out of the washing machine filter
every two weeks
the question on everyone's lips
'whose the daddy?'
chips are flying
chips of bricks
chips of shoulder bone
the great distemper.