My Diary

I woke in a three masted sailing boat wishing I could sleep better. The composite image silhouetted on the dress rehearsal for a full moon looked like a fork sacrilegiously stuck in the face of an early Russian icon. I went up the pail of water hill with June; she walked into the building through a living door of foreign finches and I slowly redrew my steps with thicker charcoal on a very large sheet of paper – by the time I reached our front door I had transferred the scene to canvas (curiously the door had tyre tracks all the way up and lotus petals lodged in the letter box – incidentally I have stopped using this after the postman accidentally posted himself and the dog ate him). In the background a ship was sinking while a mermaid held a milk bottle to her chest.


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