Tapping at the keyboard tiles - in the glow of the evening, pausing only for some hours; once to find inspiration in an unexpected shower and once again, to take a bath - these selected letters became these collected words; becoming a poem called steaming bao buns.
At four forty four this a.m. I broke from a curious and troublesome dream: a back yard cold hound arced from a choke, bejewelling black glass with sad bark and stream. * Struggle, the chain enchanted. But relief? Not tonight. Nor evasion. Fear defeat. The fettered dog’s howl and shackle of teeth seemed to goad … Continue reading Tonight, together, apart.
12.05.22 ND is sat on a bench outside Saint Augustine's, just as he was when I last saw him last, nearly ten years ago. It's as if he hasn't moved. This time though it is a bright May morning and not a wet October evening. This time though I don't walk past, but join him … Continue reading dream diaries…111
