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POEMS
Poems tend to come in dribs and drabs to Kurt. Small things like driving behind a car
being driven by an OAP and seeing its speed drop at every corner brings old man driving/
just can't take this speed. The rest has to come when it's ready.
Then there are the poems that were written on separate sheets of paper and are now lost.
They probably weren't much good, although there is one, the final stanza of which sticks
in the memory: iron between my thighs/stars behind my eyes/the orgasmic grimace
disfigures my face/as I slowly come round to the adulterer's disgrace
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