15/01/24 The warm, smoky, upper deck of a 190 Routemaster, heading toward Croydon. It is a Saturday morning in 1980. I am sat at the front, over the cab, and Brighton Rd, before and beneath, is heavily misted behind the steamed-up windows. I have wiped a penny-sized hole in the condensation and every so often … Continue reading dream diaries… 120
08/08/23 I wander a Spanish apartment. I wonder why a Spanish apartment. By Spanish, I mean, I suppose, Mediterranean, and by apartment, perhaps, villa. Inch square blue and white ceramic tiles checker the floors. The walls are chalk-plaster smooth. Cool-white ceilings, too. The furniture is simple; quiet; hand-turned pine and raffia. Their shadow backs and … Continue reading dream diaries… 119
Through the moonlit orchard, ghostly, passed a cohort quiet mostly, but for bridled horses snorting and a phaeton's lines, unspoken. In the loaming, apples, gallowed, tarnished silver, in the branches, shivered in that haunted gloam; the ungathered pome. * Shadows rushed the walls and ceiling of my chamber, causing flame and … Continue reading The Ungathered Pome.
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