My Diary: A Flame Which Is Life

I got up‭ ‬early like a preface to a book that was never actually written.‭ ‬I caught the bus feeling like a crumpled paper bag that had missed the bin by a fraction of an inch.‭ ‬June now starts work later and was still at home practicing her dance moves derived from the movements of a candle flame in a cold draught.‭ ‬I had to change once‭ (‬from the Elgin Marbles encasing a milk churn to a small crack in a concrete step hosting a maidenhair fern‭) ‬and then met the old King‭ ‬-‭ ‬his throne had risen out of the arid plains like a termite mound.‭ ‬We talked like anteaters and I then retired to the garden where myself and my imagination hung like gibbons from a small tree.‭ ‬I came home in the smallest bus I could find‭ ‬-‭ ‬unfortunately it was late and I missed an unknown number of connections.

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