My Diary: Bowels Made From Service Lifts Taken From Grand Hotels

I had to trace a line to the machine gun town,‭ ‬ricocheting off the stone fortifications by the bridge:‭ ‬very near the monument put up by the wasp queen in memory of the bee hive people‭ ‬-‭ ‬I dropped a‭ ‬fish hook instead of a coin and made a wish.‭ ‬I flew home as a king bee and made art into honey.‭ ‬As the candle shortened a voice echoed round my ancient burial mound studio and I imagined a cave mouth with stalactites and stalagmites as teeth‭; ‬someone changed the channel and large yellow balls rebounded around an otherwise empty space‭ (‬it was while attempting to follow these that all horizons suddenly became diagonal and neither I or the strange being still stalking me could stand upright‭)‬.‭ ‬I would have never found my feet if June hadn’t changed channel again to watch the late news.


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