My Diary

I woke from a dream of old acquaintances throwing grenades into the fireplace of my studio; luckily I didn’t have a fire. Poppy and I had a jigsaw walk with less pieces than yesterday but on our return I still found one was missing. I then went out to the face to face garden centre with an old friend from my tree sapling days. I sat by staring eyes although she preferred bright red lips; we talked of double decker buses travelling along mole tunnels before I pulled a rose bush from my tea cup and made the shape of an electric guitar from the still fresh petals – we both noticed that the girl behind the counter kept her skirt up with a garter snake. I returned home about noon with a guitar in each pocket, placed an egg cup under the still dripping tap and rode a horse called Silver to my studio.


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