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Matthew Fitt


Edinburgh, Scotland, UK

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efter the pairty


Matthew Fitt

the riders o the apoacalypse
hae rade thair brumstane cuddies
up an doun oor loabbie

goad wis roon lest nicht
pished again
an helt judgemint day
in oor frunt room

an interfaith drug ring
set up shoap
ben in oor cludgie
an the eejit wha stuck the heid
oan aa the mirrors in the pless
ull no shaw his fess roon heir again
in a hurry

sehlince is crashed oot
like a burst cooch
in a corner o bustit gless

the fowk that bide heir
ar aa at each anuther's funerals

an the hoose is that
hit's haein the day in bed



Matthew Fitt

liz mccolgan

like the city o braes,
she faced a caald wund

a shilpit lass
wi steel in her banes,
she saftened the thrawn backs
o the Sidlees an the Rockies
wi a million soor-lippit trainin runs

an fae the caaed-oot hert o Haakhill
the lass traachled throu
tae the circles o siller an gowd
at Seoul an Barcelona

but like the toun
that helped her find her feet
she won nae kind reviews

the lass aye pit her fit tae the road
lined wi sair an greetin faces

she ayewis chose the steyest brae

for her
there wis ainlie the track
an gaein doon it,
hirlpin or fleein,
but gaein doon it

yet atween her an the road
the sherp thin wund
an the sweirness o the world
is nae mair
nor a stane in her shoe