Beak And then she tells you that the coldest place is a heart. Not one of those ice hotels or expeditions where men bury pick axes in scapula but the chamber place with its ego
Basement Don’t leave me alone with Bjork, she is catching on the doorframe she is singing from under the carpet she is chalking the windows white. I am click-kicking the door
Bring your own punctuation Aqua pack your lungs with syntax the season is upon us, the editors under their desks faces blot covered with jotter pads and in-trays and ambition.