I fell through a crack in the sky and then through a crack in the ground,waking up as a tiny rock orbiting a very small planet circling an obscure sun in the Andromeda galaxy.I answered the door with a passport photo on my shield-it was far from flattering and has since been replaced by a bowl of tulips.I had to sign my name on the back of a sheet of paper without reading what was on the front.I wondered if the man in a wallpaper pattern suit was really a vampire king slowly shrinking in the sunlight,his crown sliding down his body until only his feet were visible.We talked like eggs playing football in a bird’s nest and then parted as soft friends,him with a picture of the sun on a tambourine and me with a plastic octopus for a tie clip.
I got up, counting the revolutions of a large crane in a distant building site, by the time I had parachuted a tea bag into a gaping cup it had screwed itself into the soft earth behind what I have long called the hippopotamus buildings beside the railway line (apparently they can be ferocious if approached). I bandaged my mouth to stop the loss of words. They had been assembling in the parade ground of my imagination all night - although by the time the sergeant major had arrived many had deserted. June was downstairs trying out a new mop on the clock dial, however she never managed to wipe the smile off its face - as a joke aside: a painting looked at a real person and didn’t think it was a very good likeness.
I woke up twice,the first time into a house where it was impossible to find the front door and the second time as June slammed it on her way to work.I rose like the test run of the prototype hovercraft (I have always thought I have Christopher Cockerell blood cells)and then walked the dog along the veins of a gigantic cabbage leaf.I later climbed the Brassica ladder to my studio where I worked on an effigy of Jane Austin made from a large slice of Cheddar cheese.A number of Tuaregs emerged from a rerun of Beau Geste and crossed the concrete lily pad beneath my window-for sometime now this has been a meeting point for extraterrestrial amphibians-with some effort I managed to push my bare legs through a giant coffee bean and walked the fort ramparts devising a new type of poetry.
I dreamt that a railway engine came out of the wardrobe during the night;on hearing the sound I got out of bed like a station master finding lepers after the signalman had found Jesus-June was still asleep at the station.She eventually came downstairs via the household plumbing system,landing as a puddle on the kitchen floor just as the landlord came up the drive in what looked like a toasted sandwich.I admired the grill marks on the bonnet while the falling snow made indecipherable marks on the concrete.I thought all long words looked like peacock tail feathers and June and I took small steps to town to simultaneously have a late breakfast and early dinner.I came home while she disappeared up one sleeve of a rain coat only to come out of the other holding an umbrella.
June and I got got up early and walked up the street like jigsaw pieces that look like they fit together but actually don’t.I had to catch a bus,which I compared to the inside of a shoe and caught another after changing feet and photographing the first lick of sunrise on the concrete cornet the office workers buy their quick snacks from.I met the old man and we collectively wondered if time was actually fragmented like floating continents and could could move together as well as move apart-I secretly wanted to move back to where the magma had just surfaced and I played in the field behind our house as if it was a separate world.I laid out flint nodules around a box tree,forming a circle but always leaving a space where the dreaming spirits could escape.
I rose like colourless bubbles from a deep sea vent and went to town with Atlas on my shoulder-it is said that he had the world on his but it was impossible to see because of the low dark cloud.I met a man at centre of the earth who has some of my pictures and claims they are his own.He tried to persuade me that the clouds were flat fish and I should spend all my time looking up instead of down.I emptied my pockets and gave him a thread I had removed from the embroidered moccasin of a Red Indian warrior.He emptied his and we each looked at separate scraps of paper before I left with the daughter of Aegipan and he jumped on a sleeping centaur instead of a bus-it may be true that the horns on my head will reveal the hand marks of man.
I got up before the raindrop hit the ground, June meanwhile had got up before the cloud was actually overhead. A picture on the wall showed a face with flower blossoms for eyes and a butterfly for a mouth (the nautilus ears having been crossed out by a member of the psychedelic exam board), the mirror however showed a punctured oasis and an empty bowl. I thought I would walk across the desert in defiance but the dog wanted to retrace the steps of the man who came to the door but wouldn’t knock. I don’t like mysteries and always have to look at the floor under even the most ornamental of rugs. I then looked for the spot where the railway goes over the tunnel instead of through it. June came in much later holding a cabbage inside a butterfly chrysalis.