Text written for End Cottage publication, Taco!, London, 2020.

Pictures of animals and objects.
Green men in the woods and the woods we walk in.
Daily circuits to help you think, drawn through a Philadelphia gauze, psychedelia redrawn,
dark, like comics drawn in blood.
Floating along the road through the trees and below the stars.
Turning the headlights off at night to see how dark it can get on the top.
On the old paths winding home past the farm.
Back to the heart where we have all lived, earth floors and hidden rooms.
The house you always dream of, different levels through stopped doors.
Painting on the kitchen floor, hoping they dry before the children come down.
Paintings of mice in the rooms they inhabit.
A song for Douglas when he's dead, dead, dead.
Reborn as a flower, screaming like a mandrake, air plants behind wooden effigies of mothers.
A collection of sticks for future use, grabbers, proffers, laser blusters and dog leads.
Shells and bits of crab, stones and fossils mulching and scraping in wet leaves.
Paintings of landscapes never seen, deep land, deep earth, simple and hard.
Paintings of horses, old energy, standing on eyes cut in the chalk.
The bottom of Dragon Hill, wild cats spitting and curling, sausages crackling and bending.
Dogs, horses, mice and turtles, Blake and angels The Erstwhile and Forrest.
Houses made from branches, lines with feathers and leaves.
Smelling like cinnamon and seashells.

Soft and warm shaped like a body.
Thunder Perfect Mind. Astral weeks. The Piper at the Gates of Dawn.