My Diary: My Portrait Stepped Out Of Its Painting For A Break

It was raining rain coats outside as I got up as a road sign in the middle of a field.‭ ‬June was a garden pond in the middle of a lake and we talked like a chair meeting a long lost table.‭ ‬I had to go to the atomic nucleus town to orbit like an electron with my long eared friend.‭ ‬I left him in an ink spot jungle and came home with punctuation marks sounding like howler monkeys in the rainy distance.‭ ‬Luckily before I came to the end of the page I collected him again:‭ ‬he had the face of Mark Twain sucking on a straw and I had the face of a straw sucking on Mark Twain.‭ ‬June had become a viaduct in the interim and was spanning a valley in a black and white photograph‭; ‬I reciprocated by becoming a trestle table in a coloured print‭ ‬.‭ ‬We both answered the telephone as a machine.


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