My Diary: The Sound Of Wild Geese Flying Along A Gun Barrel

June wanted to cling to the hull of an old liner which had settled into our urban dry dock like a coat throat razor in an old cup of soap.‭ ‬We walked around the perimeter of a giant sand castle that rose in our beach road during the night.‭ ‬As the horizon held hands we found the town standing in a river washing its pre-industrial clothes.‭ ‬I came home as one hand of a glove while she wrapped herself in the other‭ ‬-‭ ‬we thus held onto each other at a distance,‭ ‬violating one of the last laws of physics and causing a v shaped formation of Canada geese to veer off course.‭ ‬While I thought about writing a concerto for ice cream van and orchestra the sky turned itself into a funnel and a cross between powder and liquid tumbled down turning small green plants into frowning faces at a window.

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