June and I walked to the feeding ground for vampire fairies, stopping to put hoops on skeletonised fingers and bells on poles. I then came home dressed as a werewolf in sheep’s clothing. I spent time alone in a crowded room before a collective voice said it was time to go. I walked up the hill shedding old clothes as I did so.
Nude Self Portrait
I burrowed in the ground to crawl with thoughts in my head coloured pink, mauve and green. When I emerged into the comparative brightness I had to walk on air to the graveyard of totem pole figures and serve drinks to the bird headed men who frequent such places. June had to dress in her cleanest clothes and then get them dirty again.
I had to go out several times (June had to come in several times but we did occasionally coincide) and only sat in my studio now and then. Looking out of the non-blinking window I saw people I didn’t know lining the road to watch the hare and tortoise go by – strangely the two animals reached the finishing point at the same time.
Landscape With Spectators
June laid the table with scraps of paper and we ate on the floor. While she was busy talking to a family of little egrets who had emerged from a new door in the wall I went to town with the stage of the original Globe theatre in my pocket – all the girls in my head were played by boys (several large white birds flew overhead).
Fertilisation Of The Immortal Egg
Inside my studio I worked in the countryside while downstairs June sat in the town. Eventually she went out holding her own hands and I listened to sounds that started out as pictures. Outside I heard the people next door shout in whispers. The sky was comprised of psychedelic greys.
June and I went to the family non hunting grounds again, she carried a bow and I carried the arrows. We sat among the remnants of the day before almost talking and almost touching hands – paratroops dropped from decorations and angels stormed bastions. Later Poppy and I walked down a road that didn’t actually go anywhere.
Meditative Landscape – Remembered Scene
We drifted like smoke to our family meeting place where we exchanged mathematical formulae and conversation rose as mountains. I later stood alone on the highest peak in the range and wrote poetry on the clouds – then the sun came out and wrote poetry on me (none of it rhymed).
The Fall Of Icarus In Kit Form
Landscape Aphorism – All Trees Point To Heaven