12/01/20. Walking the village, bottom to top; from the palm of shops - the butcher, the baker, the barber, the bookshop, the (burnt-out) Broken Biscuit Co-op - up, up the length of high street, up, up the length of Old Lyme Road, to the quiet site, hidden in the fog, of Cliff House... * … Continue reading dream diaries… 78
the wardrobe in the corner, high, not quite to the ceiling. and, one night, napoleonic, a guardsman, there, crouched. black boots to his chin. arms wrapped around his knees. brass buttons, gold braid, red tunic. dust marks brushed the evening. sabre, trapped. scabbard, palmed and yellow skin. he is speaking the french language … Continue reading very faintly.
some memory of blue clay, of buttered gorse, jutting bayonet of flint, half-hidden, always just an inch away, this very, very evening, returned again, beleaguered, beached and batchelor: palm of secret, saddened gems. the following adornments remain abandoned on the tidal floor waiting for me to discover them - a glass of sand, a special … Continue reading hinge of laughter.
nickreeves 