toast for tea

I love the swirl of thoughts that float in and out of my head when I’m on the verge of sleep, when plans for tomorrow meld into abstract images of rollercoaster carriages that hurtle along tracks in a honey sea of green and purple and orange, then emerge as a line of four-winged pelicans, souring over white-capped mountains that gyrate and continually change shape; I love the sensation of sliding down a wall of words, none of them true or false or right or wrong, slipping through snippets of conversation overheard on the train to work, on a bus to Mongolia, in the mouth of a giant ant as it speaks into a microphone to a crowd of nude business men in bowler hats; I love the way my shopping list of unfinished tasks unfurls into a list of street names, then to a roadmap that becomes three-dimensional and I am sailing a boat through narrow canals, through foreign lands and over vast oceans of broiling waters that are home to saucepan-wielding pirates and old men; I love the sounds in my he...

I want: to plant the freesia bulbs that have been in a packet by the back door for over a year read The Book Thief by Markus Zusak and all the other books underneath it on the pile by my bed write to my sponsor child and send her a photo of our family make moussaka invite my neighbours to dinner write a song with a blues feel drive to the beach on a week day and have a midweek day off spend all day at the State Library and come home with a short story and poem sew some braid onto the bottom of my khaki cords that are too short have a massive blog read catch-up do pilates go swimming pop in on my Dad for a surprise visit and take him out for morning tea go for a bike ride in Warburton brush the cat and the dog and the rabbit work up a song with my teenagers that we can perform somewhere phone about five friends who are in danger of forgetting who I am and arrange to meet for coffee read right through my Nortons Poetry Anthology meditate do some stream-of-consciousness writing everyday ...