tap a heartbeat on the pillow and curl up as if in my mother still
I dream of a big house alone by a calm shore. It's night and I can see the stars as clear as cocaine crystals on black rubber boots. I walk along the shore and see the house. One light is on, high up in one of the towers atop the house. I look at the shiloute of the rambling house against the night sky - I can see towers and arches and a gateway in the high wall around it. I can hear tired laughter spilling outside, like wine on carpet. Inside, amidst the unconciousness and the fallen plaster, I can see two people dancing. They're the only ones left - everyone else is in a stupor from what they want. Crystals crunch under my bare feet as I turn away from them and climb the stairs. The old stairs creak and croak under my light weight. I feel smooth wood smooth under my bare feet. at the top of the stairs is a passageway, a long, dark corridor with doors to rooms leading off it. Someone has spray painted "Fuck the Man" over the old, faded oil painting of a happy looking fucker in armour which hangs at the end of the corridor. I can see the words, flickering in the flickering light of an oil lamp which has been set down. In each of the rooms is a different paradise. Outside, I left the gate open as I passed through and it is creaking. I can hear it, even now, asleep in this house at the top of the stairs; I can hear the gate creak in the night air as perhaps a breeze catches.
