Quedesha

Miguel de Unamuno said, a drop of blood,a little love does not bring death, but does you good not through your bones, nor for your good, it merely drips when you're alone, by sun, moon, your breath, it will bring no ruin, stay close to your friends, for ones who may atone, persuade those lovers to soothe, do again what's already done, if that makes sense, yellow sand, tidal flood, make a rush to send, a hardened face to the end, resisting what you could, this is why you bled, before the dust. seeing life through your gaze, the oranges and the sea,/a lovely gentle philosophy you go about your days, gamble everything, all our days inseed, including the kitchen sink, houses bought under Kennedy, moving like you wouldn't mind, a sense of ease

Petta

You direct me to make tea, why is it so hard to stay, lies i tell of where i've been, you wipe my face, turn a cheek, make all the wrong arrangements, what do you see, you'd gamble anything, including all our days, without even a kitchen sink, your Ma crawled to West Kirby, from Liverpool in her day, grateful on her knees. is my luck your uncertainty, seeing life through your gaze, the oranges and the sea, you'll go out you said to me, in a blue cigarette haze, maybe that has to be, knowing what to say. Do you drive on fire,/ beneath evening trees seeing those those photos, of your family long deceased, slipping beneath the road, dusty places along the wires, dancing on the breeze, homing like a pigeon flyer, settling on the stones, kids kicked on the street, another of Uncle Joe, the father alongside who died, so young his wife screamed, Why, Sunday faces looking inspired, houses bought under Kennedy, moving like you wouldn't mind, a sense of ease their life is tame. Great Days in the fast lane learning of trouble in shameful ways, or act the holy one, against your lover, all fires raised, awash on the coast hooray/ state sheltered by rain what you love most learn to forget her

Patsy

. Do you drive on fire, beneath evening trees seeing those those photos, of your family long deceased, slipping beneath the road, dusty places along the wires, dancing on the breeze, homing like a pigeon flyer, settling on the stones, kids kicked on the street, another of Uncle Joe, the father alongside who died, so young his wife screamed, Why, Sunday faces looking inspired, houses bought under Kennedy, moving like you wouldn't mind, a sense of ease

Pamela

Will you suffer, a lifetime of pain, learning to forget her, blow what you love most, in shameful ways, or act the holy one, against your lover, all fires raised, do you care to bother, awash on the coast, sheltered by rain, you know what you've lost, chained to your buffers, someone will state, they've got your number, if you listen, you’ll have your say, your great days glisten, life's no train.

Pietra

. You tear at my bones, you're the fool i say, you don't need to be alone, to sail from my web, she holds my face, it's all in your head, we scream down the 'phone, think you're coming to stay, make me another loan, my dignity shredded, she's poised but waits, to distance herself, the psyche in her moans, . swears emotion is blackmail, i'm like an old crone, on wrinkled stones, i firmly state, you have to atone, she smiles,hesitates

Pilar

Ok, watch me go la la, is that what you do with lovers, who can only Cha Cha, you'll have no peace, with all your troubles, or your smoking ill at ease, your broad rimmed Casa, full of Brandy and rubble, white faces lipstick dark glasses, you shout your release, keep open the shutters, are my legs the reason, you scream at the bar, rip magazines off their covers, beg me don't say ta ra, will you buy me a car, broom boom between the covers, don't take me that far, think of your mother.

Pauline

Who will catch her moans, secrets spill like home brew, the song chills her bones, hair a screed of wheat, shines luminous but under curfew, its the old disease, lavender linen and Eau de Cologne, she whispers to a ravaged few, her feelings are never slow, a granny who sings for free, song is all the Blues, truth no concessionary, than a blonde field cloaked, with an early dew, her drink is whisky soaked, beats that sad old tune, down a public telephone, it won't make the news, or leave her ruined, a poet explodes.