My Diary

A slow motion day as I walked across the churchyard laid out on our breakfast table; I looked at tombstones while outside a blackbird looked at worms (I frivolously wondered if he could make out all the names). I watered the deserts that are allowed to touch and then found enough music in the song sheet to create a sound boat and sail away to islands that aren’t – composing a symphony for shouts and swear words as I did so. We met the family on the upper deck of a flying saucer and talked like grain cast in front of hungry chickens; eventually the old cockerel went off to work while the others went home as the toys found inside Christmas crackers. June and I wore our paper hats as we watched a group of fauns follow nymphs across an army firing range.

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