Tuesday 6th December


At sunrise the sky was full of animals. Giant pink things in purple hoods
floated east.We stood beneath them photographing naked sticks, broke
the ice on puddles with the heels of our boots & it cracked like electric arcing
beneath the wheels of tube trains. Poetry, words blown in a chill wind
along city streets, calls me out to play. ‘I hear the music of guitars‘ strummed
on dirt roads & in deserts the other side of rush-hour. Making time to soak up
all these things isn’t at the top of every list, but it should be.