I lived in the archive of

His  colourful, chaotic past

For two months

Sleeping with the Dust and Boxed Relics

Of his old life

The life he said he’d out grown

The Skin he said he’d Shed

His fashionable fox fur coat

And Hall of Packed Paintings

His One Hundred and One Shirts…

Up in the warm womb of Heidelberg

surrounded by lush sub tropical plants

palms, and the song of the Thrush

embraced by the ever changing skyline

wave riders, and Atlantic winds:

the  stream of consciousness flows...

......it was a few days  out past the island of Haiti, and stories of the White Witch of Rose Hall, where the rough indigo blue of the Atlantic became the far gentler turquoise waters of the Caribbean. (I was only eleven years old) . The Atlantic ocean seemed like a  lonley and desolate expanse to me: the murky blue waters,extending all the way out to the horizon, on all sides, the ocassional passing of ships, the constant churning of the waves, the eternal rocking motion of the…