My Diary

I started the day by walking two large birds of prey to the home for old anacondas at the top of the hill. Each was perched on a shoulder as if my ears had stretched their legs and moved some way from the side of my head – they stood listening as I crossed the railway line and heard the scuff of spectacle wheels on contact lense track and the mechanical whispering which comes after this kind of connection. June had meteors in her hair and I brushed out several constellations before being picked up myself by a passing crane and deposited on the skeletal origins of a New York skyscraper at the turn of the last Century. I reflected on the history of dried out reservoirs and then imagined touching almost endless invisible outstretched hands. All steeplejacks believe in multiple realities.

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