Sandstone Mind Map

My blood pumps candy apple red under the old Grandfather star, ringing snuggly in his blue blanket.
I check my watch. Realise this is pointless. Come to recall how I’ve checked my watch only a few minutes ago and with exactly the same conclusion.
Where was time for it to be watched.
Kicking my melting boots in the sand, I cannot imagine that such things as were in the world (lint, promiscuity, cobalt blue embedded quilts, towers of animal faces in oak, an invisible means of announcing lateness, money, hog hair brushes, paracetamol, kites, javelin tipped gazes, glazed globes, ear lobes, panty hose) were in it.
I’m sure I’d need someone to describe these things to me.
As though my name wasn’t Russell. And I’d have to be convinced of this fact, beyond, and despite, the years of Russell-ness.


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