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| 2. |
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On the forecourts of French libraries from Reignac to Marseilles
The rain rattles small cars, clouds drape over backseats I am a photograph in your satchel, between a paperback and cigarettes I am the dead bird on the gravel, neck snapped from last night's Northwesterly But no peace, no closure But no peace, no closure Beside these roads that halt like jetties, beneath circling murders are leafless trees Drowning at the knees; some burnt to the fingertips And here my tracks sink, end, return as I walked in and out of you And here my tracks sink, end, return as I walked in and out of you But no peace, no closure But no peace, no closure Driving back through the town The road map-pinned by Pharmacie signs winking up-road The cars slice the afternoon with a guillotine slush As it bleeds into a night peppered by stars and planes to Japan And the changing of gears jilts the cats from the walls The truth lives with you The truth lives with you But no peace, no closure But no peace, no closure But no peace, no closure But no peace, no closure |
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| 3. |
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We sail on the bad tide
We sail on the bad sea From your heart to my heart with sails cut from mercy From your heart to my heart From Summer to Spring We row through the Dead Sea to the deader within |
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| 5. |
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| 6. |
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I have thought about you in your Summer abode
In your lunatic smock, in chronicle mode The typewriter smack as you nail in the words And the turntable's drunk reflection occurs I have thought about you in your grasshopper pose And the cigarette smoke carving trails through your clothes Your Spanish guitar pins your bed to the floor So your dreams can't escape and they're yours evermore Paris, she bleeds night into her cup As you index the birds and you label them up |
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| 8. |
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| 9. |
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My password is a dead aunt's name
A monument, a testament My password is a dead aunt's name A cenotaph, a shallow grave I'm thirty one and fading fast Forget the past, repeat the past I'm thirty two and fading fast I started last and I finished last |
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| 10. |
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