One hop and a skip
one tab
one more trip
and I slip into dreaming
effortlessly really,
effort, less me,
seemingly floating while
swimming through syrup,
my feet in the stirrups
on a horse called
Winchester.

Laughter in the cloisters and
the toaster pulling faces
while the priest catches monkeys
that swing through the
door.

If life is for anything it cannot be this.