I walked June along a tight rope two inches above the ground – I was scared we might fall. She went inside; all her memories wrapped inside an apple, which she gave to the teacher who taught her nothing. I pulled the ripcord and glided back to the hair parting runway. I worked in a bathysphere at the bottom of an ocean trench until the school bell rang and I went to town. June was snorkelling in wet concrete when I arrived with black lines across my face like badly superimposed Lone Rangers. We came home in the fragmented night.
It was snowing outside as I rose through a trapdoor into the secret smile garden – there was just grass and witches hats; it was fun lifting the hats in turn looking for the frog (the prince walked to town with me to clean the streets). I came back with a hat made from green leaves and forgotten voices emanating from my coat pockets – the top pocket voice had a speech impediment and the general populace claimed she was a witch. I covered my studio floor with dried flowers and then painted a landscape on a tennis racket. Sometime later I painted a face on the ball.
June and I meant to have a lay in but got up when an ocean liner drifted over head, its shadow embracing different patterns on the old carpet in turn – we plan to remove the carpet and replace it with fluttering butterfly wings when the weather gets warmer. After the ship had disappeared through the embroidered castle entrance we went out for dinner; I had crystallised lorry wheels and June had part of the Deccan traps. After a walk in the early part of the Cenozoic we came home to work, pasting our faces into the pages of a book.
I pulled a coil of rope (complete with the skeletal remains of a climber who forgot to let go) from my Wellington boots and travelled to the top of a hill – a passing giant had laid out a cruet set and I accidentally knocked over the pepper. The pale white ghosts of cows shuffled by trying to escape from a lorry. I found an alarm in the middle of a thorn bush and turned it off – not realising it had already woken the collection of heads piled up in the corner; they spoke but I still called them fallen fruit. I counted blinking eyes in the bonfire before coming home.
I got up as early as a slither of light underneath a bedroom door and trudged downstairs with a replica of the houses of parliament on my shoulders. I found my friends, the rooks, playing hoopla and I shut the door behind me – the lady in the orb floating above mine opened her handbag and Danae spilled out all over a shower of gold. I met the old man wearing his Zeus shirt and we talked about people who had high fences. I foolishly said if he could find one higher than mine I would jump over it – a friendly cow offered to jump over it with me.
June had to go to the Saturn Five launch pad to get ready for her course on the history and culture of amoebic life forms. I wore a bacteria T-shirt and hung from scaffolding like Spanish Moss. I saw a procession of android nuns amble by and then dropped to the ground to play nought and crosses on my own face using mud from a genuine Hopi village. June came back dressed in a baguette so I put a partly buttered slice of bread on the top of my head and waited for an emissary from an alien civilisation to land on it.
I got up when a giant arthropod shuffled through the bedroom casting a shadow several metres long. It had traffic lights at the end of its antenna which stopped the traffic throughout the town – in this century and the preceding two. When it had gone I went back to bed where June was building a brick outhouse. She left the house through the fungal door and I adjusted my micro-circuitry so I could pick up radio signals originating from down town Venus. I spent the day painting while listening to Venusian chamber music.