What do they think has happened, t
To make them like this? Do they s
It’s more grown-up when your mouth
And you keep on pissing yourself,
Who called this morning? Or that,

If hands could free you, heart,
Where would you fly?
Far, beyond every part
Of earth this running sky
Makes desolate? Would you cross

I thought it would last my time—
The sense that, beyond the town,
There would always be fields and f
Where the village louts could clim
Such trees as were not cut down;

The cloakroom pegs are empty now,
And locked the classroom door,
The hollow desks are lined with du
And slow across the floor
A sunbeam creeps between the chair

They fuck you up, your mum and dad
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their t

Waiting for breakfast, while she b
I looked down at the empty hotel y
Once meant for coaches. Cobblesto
But sent no light back to the load
Sunk as it was with mist down to t

Walking around in the park
Should feel better than work:
The lake, the sunshine,
The grass to lie on,
Blurred playground noises

Like the train’s beat
Swift language flutters the lips
Of the Polish airgirl in the corn
The swinging and narrowing sun
Lights her eyelashes, shapes

The little lives of earth and form
Of finding food, and keeping warm,
Are not like ours, and yet
A kinship lingers nonetheless:
We hanker for the homeliness

To step over the low wall that div
Road from concrete walk above the
Brings sharply back something know
The miniature gaiety of seasides.
Everything crowds under the low ho