The dreams had come again,

To enrich and energize

The pallid insipid substance of my life –

The pallid semblance of my supposed life, should I say?

Aah those dreams!

So rich and so furious –

So intoxicating and intense

Sweeping me up into the river

Of their flow.

I left the house on the dot of nine,

The teapot on my head

My bracelets jangling like crazy,

Live snakes encircling my ankles,

My eyeliner running in the pouring rain.

The King was in his Counting House,

Counting out his terrible poverty…

The figures were coming out all right,

But the spirit of the thing was all wrong.