SUNDAY STREAMING OF CONSCIOUSNESS
Sunday, sat on the sofa sipping sugary drinks, slipping under covers for the Sunday races, slip of a dog at her feet. Pecking at pork pies in pink painted bags near the table nearby the stable. She hums to herself as she drums up a cake from the crumbs of her past and daydreams them into her mirror where she sees who she is and all of her wishes that sparkle like dishes. Supper is served with stolenpreserves, cream of mushroom, soup from the moon. She strums on her Lyre overlooking the spire and slides ‘long a weather vane, down through an open pane. The TV walks past with a portable mast and the rain tumbles down, she’s wearing a frown and hides in the bush ‘til the sun comes lush and spells the word fun to anyone not dumb!
Text and photograph by Trev Teasdel
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