Richard Wink		Late to the Party Late to the gathering seven fifty five our friends are now sculptures our bottles are brides   Lecture theatre leaches cult smut gobblers Jokes with added laughter drenched in tap water atmosphere created by green eyes riding the curtain rail carried away by the ceiling fan helicopter.   Casualties were taken carted back by impatient taxi drivers where tension simmered in cubes of sugar, the smell of coffee was nefarious aroma coming ambience going paranoia rising - the last four shoes in the hallway belonged to us            The Moth Woman   A Brand New Banshee is caught in the curtains her face open to the public her shyness clumsy like a moth.   Spiraling cracks whimper as the mass of material comes down under her struggle, dissonant decorum monochrome whine she gets back to her feet one leg at a time.   Sozzled, simmering she bares her soul in the early evening, prior to car after car driving past her starlit window     Ylayali Carrying her outlandish blanket tickled pink with flamingo feathers. Ylayali highlighted poverty with a shivering demeanour, she spent an afternoon reading about an existentialist pornographic actress named Sasha in the local library.   Hot city sounds exhaust pipe saxophones milk bottle percussion, they mark her every move.   She pinches a bottle from the corner shop rolls it up in her outlandish blanket and flees setting off the light bulb in the head of the surprised shopkeeper who had never seen a shoplifter live in the flesh