My Diary

I tried to make an early start despite the fact that a snake had twisted itself round my neck and insisted on reciting verses from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. I tried to listen while drawing intersecting lines in mid air and then small squares a few centimetres of the nail polished floor. June then returned from work, cast off her salamander skin, dressed as a Welsh nun in the story of a forgotten king and we went out for a meal. I noted that the white road markings that helter skeltered their way up her front resembled the flight path of the strange light in the sky we were watching the previous night. I had chips with everything and we came home at the edge of darkness followed by the ghost of a single engined aeroplane which had disappeared on its maiden flight.

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