My Diary

June was taken ill during the night, leaning over the side of the gently rocking boat – I held onto the mast as small aeroplanes with human heads slowly proceeded across the glowering sky. Sometime later I launched myself into the smiling sky, propelled by visual poetry and strung beneath a cloud. June stayed in bed most of the day; I sat next door virtually moving through several different landscapes simultaneously, making a note of all the bright colours and assigning each a number. I later got my calculator out in my studio and examined the total – which was large enough to be a cricket score with fireworks every time a wicket fell. We had an early night; she floated along a moon line and I surfaced inside a cave.


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