My Diary

I walked June to town just before the dinner bell rang, each of us were encased in a sloughed snake skin (I had found these on a trip to Spectacles Mountain in search of a four breasted woman). We parted company as a satyr sung a song about possession by the concrete underpass and I pasted a post-it note on my bare feet – the note didn’t say wear shoes. After parading around the garden dressed as a pyramid I met June again by the hourglass sand flyover. I was a trifle perturbed by her vegetable hair as I had already shaved my own off and was waiting for the farmer’s plough and tractor. I didn’t know at the time that the farmer had got lost after seeing several horizons at once. June came in again some time later convinced she had just talked to a neolithic sailor.


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