03.08.22 Nick B phones. He is in Whitby. He is asking for my address. I have to scrabble around in many notebooks trying to find it - I thought I lived in Whitley Bay, but I had better check. He says not to worry, there's a bus back to South Croydon leaving in ten minutes. … Continue reading dream diaries…113
He handed me a book saying, ever read Bukowski? Didn't like him then; less so, now. This was not the right answer. So, you think you write better? Better? Comparing breakfast to dinner.
Unopened, dun letters envelop the floor. Sheaf leaflets, none read; too many to mention... But her hand, delivered today to my door - penned, posted, scented - receives full attention. Her lines bring pleasure to me, and I glean nuance from her Wish You Were Here missives. News from her mill and river, hills of … Continue reading This Song of Sparrows.
