My Diary: Writing About The Fisher Of Souls

June got up late in a room where electricity pylons had replaced all items of furniture.‭ ‬We sparked when we touched before she swam in a coffee cup and I left on a rocking horse,‭ ‬not travelling very far but coming back with blank skies that I could paint birds on.‭ ‬I told June about the androgynous figure whose hair changed like seaweed‭ ‬-‭ ‬last time I saw her it was forecasting rain‭ ‬-‭ ‬and then we both went out to walk in a knitted clothes garden.‭ ‬I showed her a black and white statue of a girl holding a brightly coloured chalice,‭ ‬saying this is where pure water is collected for the vagrants of the mind:‭ ‬I christened mine dreams and she christened hers everyday thoughts‭; ‬I claim to dredge mine up from the deepest ocean while I jokingly said hers were like old boots found on fishing lines instead of fish.

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