Monday, September 25
Close your eyes
I stick my head out of the window to cool my blood. For almost twenty seconds the broad whoosh of traffic is the ocean.
Sunday, September 24
I have something to tell you:
while it was raining, the sun rose
Friday, September 22
Look around you
Green tea in a white mug. White curtains. Snow globe filled with glitter. This music. These words.
Sunday, September 17
I am a chicken
An ordinarly looking middle-aged black woman, she walked along the pavement shouting 'I am a chicken! Let me lay my eggs!'. She flapped her madness around her like glorious robes.
Road-kill: glimpse of the inside
There was a part that was shining and curved, like the side of a varnished vase.
Saturday, September 9
Quarter to nine
I look and look at the huge full moon
Before the sun burned it off
The tops of trees, alone and in clumps, float in a lake of mist.
Friday, September 8
earl grey without milk
each hot mouthful exhaling the fragrance of translucent white flowers
Wednesday, September 6
Being in the world
He observes me from his spot on the dark-green garden shed roof in next door's garden. He is pure white, with a bell hanging from his pink collar - not a single strand of fur is out of place. His whiskers quiver and he turns away to continue with his vigil.
Sunday, September 3
As I think
As I think about what I want to write, a spider with a dark brown abdomen and sandy legs busies himself travelling the edges of his web. From here the strands of spider-silk are invisible.
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