My Diary: Never Talk With Seaweed In Your Mouth

June worked again in the morning,‭ ‬we both walked up the leper road before the hand like trees on the horizon had unclenched their fists.‭ ‬After a breakfast spread out on a factory conveyor belt I walked the dog beside what I call the sleeping poet railway track,‭ ‬we began with the intention of writing an epic but returned after only a limerick‭ ‬-‭ ‬a young rustic called Mallory never woke.‭ ‬June came back with a face full of feathers,‭ ‬she spoke with primaries and fluttered her secondaries as the couple next door went in with a prefabricated whale carcass and proceeded to cover it with crosses.‭ ‬June and I are noughts and rolled up the hill to see the elemental children in an elemental garden.‭ ‬I thought in pictures and June spoke in ocean waves:‭ ‬a ship coming in floundered on the rocks.


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