My Diary

The sun was beating a toy drum as I tied my imaginary golden locks to the window and climbed down.  I sailed across the surface of a silent lake waiting for the drum sticks to fall as the marching band set forth.  My head was nearly bald and reflected faces of long gone people – not all of whom I had met. For the first time in over a week I was able to float in the spaces of my studio.  I worked on a landscape draped across the chest of a young woman.  I was happy at this point to find an old toffee in my pocket.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s