Teaching...

Teaching today through Sunday. Doubt there'll be much fresh writing.

Here are some prompts

A boy from Sparta
A cool small evening. Somewhere a car starts up.
A long, slow walk, slightly uphill
And will the flowers die?
Basically, he was a cunt
But in Sumatra they are thinking "Palm Oil! Palm Oil!"
Even cooking is a war with you
Every discarded foetus, every one, is marching
First, having read the book of myths
Free prescriptions
Further and further into the deep parts
I am silver. Exact
I had thought so little of her
I have decide to go crazy
I point to where the pain is, the ache
If I ate peanut butter I wouldn't like it
I'm in trouble, she said. We are.
It turns out mud will burn
It was June, 1962. Or May 1969.
It was like keeping a puppy in your underpants
John, George
Moonlight, horses rush
My father got up early
My father has to touch a page to fully understand
My mother says I am a negro
My shoes were polished.
My true love and I lay without touching
Not a prayer for the dying
Nothing unpleasant getting in, nothing of value out.
Nothing, nothing, can hold back the giggle
Roast a pig and follow the smell
Sluices. Ditches. Drains.
Somebody who knew him
Telling my son about the crash
The air was soft, the ground cold, dull
The anxious way you close the door
The back seat of my mother's car
The lunch-box by the body
The old tractor, a black pool under
The road was not deserted any more
The sexual advantages of loving a monkey
The truth is a crude instrument, fiction the scalpel
Twenty years before, thirty years after
What we were like then. What we will be like
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember
When he got out of bed the world had changed
When I was eight, I knew nothing
When they come for you
With a girl who doesn't speak English
Women stripped to the waist