Artie

When you see the moon creep , between stars white and clear, I only hear alarm bleeps, before any whispered sigh, am working with a bombardier, who brings me to this night, I've fallen in too deep, to remember previous tears, what lies beside the reap, regular as the five and dime, darkness occludes our gear, a knife's sparkly birth right, these walls bring alive, what I bought so dear, dance of demons would wonder why, the cool evening night, bereft of drama or lonely pier, comes when a wrong's put right, see the road with inner peace, I'll live or die from here, wine isn't cheap, but takes away the fear.

Alfreda

Cocaine is our baby, we accept her burnt cheer, bring us the cradle, stroke the city of stones, down an avenue so clear, she wears different clothes, case of lovers in our trading, we handle them without fear, good parents these days, long journey's to the coast, nothing is too dear, except our paranoia, never willful or on show, no need to be near, the nightmare unknown, that's for the ashamed, who portray all their gear, i'm a decent lady, anyone has me arraigned, lawyer friends whisk me clear, of troubled local states, please go away, nothing's left to fear, with guns I won't hesitate, going to be a different baby, in these turbulent growing years, forget everything lazy, help my teething years.

Alvin

Who hasn't thought, alone and perplexed, thinking of what you've bought, over a drink of wine, the burdens of text, Birthdays and Valentines, what we buy that's caught, down pipelines of the vexed, wonder what we're doing, with women Online, who will pop up next, and ask for our time, generally divorced, light through a dark vest, drunk and overwrought, it's me at the shopping mall, staring at the rest, will anyone give a call, draw a bundle of noughts, these compatability tests, supposed to be joyous, just like all the rest.

Asia

She has such a giving way, she brings me Bollinger, on Christmas Day, what can we do alone, without repentance, in circumstances of our own, wine pours down my face, like a Christening, she fires the Angel cake, are we here or gone, she hasn't got a pot to piss in, we laugh at the unknown, choose to live or waste, cash our lives in richness, called upon to pray, her slumber a loving say, like rhythms of the sea, and the trips i'd made, my greatest days, awash in her forgiveness, are enough to celebrate, that beautiful spirit.

Alex

Can you remember the sea, the swell and the spray, our dance of Thebes, now the kids have flown, gone away, look after their own homes, we dance on the beach, at the end of the day, all our loving at Crosby, every part of the gloam, suddenly drained, and we're alone, you grab my feet, guide me through the play, my troubles ease, in the wind blown lee, I hold your face, forget the disease, catch horizons like these, you wonder why i pray, buy me chips and peas help me snort cocaine.

Andrea

Your house beyond the dunes, roses billow beneath the sky, will death bring you truth, all poets die intestate, however things may lie, throwing rages at their mates, even God is not immune, but there's a love inside, he won't be duped, fire burns in the grate, don't tell me how they cried, anchors bind my feet, it isn't me you fool, dying in the tide, don't you know he loves you, all our different blues, left hanging out to dry, all the lovers too, come to say toodle doo, their pillowed troubles light, a relieved and laughing crew, debts gone from their eyes.

Artie

By a train last night, i swore faithfully to Jesus, no more of that all right, a woman travelling to Naples, rocked me gently, and said everything's OK, she talked of a writer, called Andrea Camilleri, and kissed me quietly, I take photographs with lights, I see what others don't see, how the girls have died, when you know they're made, glamorous, perfect, serene, it makes you scared, to see them without life, don't mess those heeby jeebies, my soul strung out tight, beg help on St Anthony's quay. to a perfect nought, every part of thought, in their eyes amour, fresh linen and Eau de Cherie, the soul of lost hordes, all of them taught, by the garden door, of Saint Phillip Neri, I see the poor, cross Catherine Street