Within the warehouse of lost time skylights mottle and motions
of racing against the clock provoke daydreams and the light
fast fades, dreams within dreams within dreams
that get let loose in the crystal hotel with walls
like Rothko paintings with a forbidden door that leads
into another party that’s easy to gatecrash
because everyone there is the same as everyone here.
She snores like a telephone left off the hook
the key for Room 13 still in your pocket.
The morning mirror and the space between your ears
is transformed into a nightclub where green elixirs
get sucked from straws dipped in inverted isosceles,
the imbibers float in a boat on chemically enhanced oceans,
after all, natural sea water could never be this raspberry blue colour.
She stops snoring, hangs up on her dream
wakes to see a flash of gold, like a heliograph
message coming from the top of the mountain
We drink wine, our words
like tentative stones
dropped in forest pondsto see which way the ripples run