Alma

Mary the Catholic Queen, would not let saliva, be spat into the spleen, for son James's baptismal, common for left footers, and Scots at that time, I stood by an unlit lampin, waiting for my wife, she never turns to dreams, such a palaver, waiting by the Tweed, like a Sunday chancer, a tree a lamp an uncertain weave, near Stirling, what a fucking heave, thinking of Alexander Trocci, his New York leather jacket, and Jock Stein's mate, who ran the Italian cafe,' and mourned each day, Who brought us down, i wanted to shout.

Alana - the new 22's,for the salad of the bad cafe

Smoking a lucky star, chasing numbers, going out the door ajar, the same calendar, my daughter says 'i wonder', she's a great heart, then she bought a car, the Rotunda, won't see her park, right from the start, so bewildered, she jumped the bar, my Ma, ten years after, i still hear your laughter, from Ireland and me Da, grateful to be a juggler, under oranges in a barn, love never hungers.

Zuna

She starts to gently croon, your life is in my frame, won't you come with me soon, the difference in a dollar, she acts like Kurt Cobain, on wooden stools drinking vodka, no note of impending doom, my new friends are game, nothing here suggests ruin, no one to feel your collar, we've gone beyond shame, like a euro millions rollover, what passes for the truth, she resists just the same, prefers to stay paper aloof, which of us is not like you, as we laugh like drains, think of us as Blue, are you insane ?

Zola

She dances like a scarecrow, that's what she'd like be, someone that the wind blows, doesn't need a path to search, her demand to be free, measure distance lurch, don't worry how she grows, thinking only of the sea, it isn't her last throw, she doesn't do hurt, will never go gently, could you see her in church, even if her hopes are torn, she'll put it down to destiny, not fill her heart with stones, she doesn't want to be alone, but sometimes it's the honesty, that won't let her drone, or take it easy.

Zeela

Birds can't start their tune, the moon is in her wake, she asks if i like the blues, sat in bars making bets, she sits with her tiny frame, this is how good it gets, like a match stick in ruins, her eyes fill with shame, in this her office room, she doesn't pay rent, it's just a game, she'll go and live in a tent, a dingy drop a cracked spoon, she asks if i'm insane, to sit in this saloon, she knows what it is to lose, but comes back again and again, there isn't much to choose, to her it's all the same.

Zelda

The nurses sneer at jokes, far more than any keep, our lake skims with stones, i check inside again, wonder where we go, to escape the falling rain, each Sunday the wind blows, where we sleep in quarantine, no one needs the scarecrow, we listen for lonely trains, hear their empty echoes, whistle around our pain, when sunlight lifts our moans, we try to swim out deep, won't make promissory notes, the future's not ours to know, with all our daily needs, it's a gambler's last throw, fire burns at our feet.

Zala

If you'd please only see, in this strange lantern light, ballast carries no sympathy, you cough a cigarette throat, look at your swollen thighs, drink keeps you afloat, you'll stand little scrutiny, God knows if you're right, but this trip's no guarantee, between you and the coast, what gets lost at night, no wind chills the you most, you knows what it means, to lose dreams even slight, otherwise you'd scream, 'Dump me in the sea,' a demand from on high, no fire or blue anemone's, between you and the tide.