I got up early, before June the body but after June the voice. I checked the garden quickly for pottery shards after the frost giant’s party during the night and then walked up the chimney pot road as introspective smoke; the lady with the fluffy cat hat looking baffled by the miniature mountaineer climbing up my back - apparently he was trying an ascent of my unconquered North Face. I remembered to wave to a fragment of a person in the last house but one (unfortunately that was the only fragment not looking). I then found a pair of marching boots at the top of the road and climbed inside; disembarking outside a pair of clapping gloves. Cold feet talked to cold hands and then came home with a solar flare in a paper bag and a warrior ostrich in a haversack.
I started the day paper thin, adding layers as the morning progressed and the weather worsened. June went out in the pouring rain with shoes on her head and her raincoat in her bag while I stayed at home writing with gale force ink. After a photograph dinner (a bush baby eating a grasshopper) I noticed that the big black cloud in the loft had started to rain through the ceiling; I telephoned the landlord - who was being painted in deck chair stripes in a room studiously modelled on a kangaroo’s pouch - and then telephoned June before she changed into a marsupial cardigan with very long sleeves. When she got home we both entered the placental vampire den with spoons in our mouths (hers were silver) and then had another photographic meal (a grasshopper eating a bush baby).
June and I started the day in black and white before going out for a meal in full colour. In a restaurant of intersecting lines June and I surrounded ourselves with attractively patterned clouds. She thought vertically while I day dreamed in horizontal layers - the night dream archaeologist would later find the footprints of an early hominid in the lowest layer, as well the plastic casing of a transistor radio. As the luminous dust began to settle in the aborted launch pad room I told the waiter that my meal could foresee the future although in reality it could only remember the past. He later showed me a hole in the wall where something had entered the building which has never been found; I emptied my pockets when I got home.
June went out trailing a long piece of string; I wasn’t sure if I had to tie the end to something in the house or just let it go. She went so that the very young could meet the very old - as I am in between I let myself float to the surface where I grabbed hold of several different ancient Greek myths at the same time (both Ariadne and Andromeda held my hand). I fastened the sound of birds in Spring to a stick close to where the narrowness of my thoughts touched the vastness of the horizon. I believe in standing before the largest horizon possible even if it sometimes slips its mooring like a doomed ocean liner. As the singing birds receded I pushed all the unfinished meals in our street into all the unworn clothes and made a sculpture of a smiling face. I wondered if it would still smile if it knew the truth.
June stood stood like a sculpture who had just missed its plinth and in consequence couldn’t quite see over the recently erected wall - I am sure it was deliberately placed to ensure we couldn’t see more than one path at once (given the choice I would always choose the oldest anyway). She finally left the already flying launch pad and I climbed inside an acoustic guitar to save myself from having to play it; that said I was still knocked over by the music cascading down from an unknown point - marked on all maps of the mind by an undecipherable word. Before June came back (with wet weather clothing to wear when the sun came out) I had shoveled away all the sound and had walked a long way down a path of silence, even though inside I really wanted to shout.
I pushed the darkness aside to clamber out to a place where only the bedroom windows were lit. I sneaked up on the bus, not realising that another was sneaking up on me. Most of us travelled west (the ones going in the opposite direction were still clutching their door keys which they had foolishly attempted to light like cheroots), although I stopped off half way to purchase packets that really shouldn’t be filled and then carried on my journey weighed down by a cathedral spire of dead fish - I was secretly hoping a stranger would come along and reduce it to two (and five loaves) but sadly there aren’t any strangers left. I met the mountain god in the valley (although I knew the surrounding hills well) and we talked like grown up writing even though mine never really joined up properly.
I woke up in a diving bell with June fast asleep in a scallop shell. She then dressed in a racing car and went slowly to town. I waved goodbye using the gantry from a Gemini rocket launcher and then burrowed upstairs to write my name on what seemed like a continuous strand of white card that was rapidly moving in front of my multiple eyes. June came home as a steam train in the age of diesels and we examined the contents of her bag as if trying to ascertain the cause of death - I suspected foul play but she assured me it was natural causes. After a short spell of throwing bits of our lunch between us I returned to my upstairs writing and she to her downstairs thoughts - these were interrupted briefly however when the dog got up and changed the television channel.