Red as meat, I want a musical happiness, a cigar plantation covered in statues, tobacco leaf coffee tables and fine liquor, surrounding bells and the barbaric amputation of soft light in the gloaming, the shotgun scattered blast of torch bugs whose tiny lighthouses cast flickering sparks and explosions over the sleepy field of rain-trees and golden mulch.
Snow falling silently on the wet brick steps, coal-black iron railing, I like the sound snow makes when it crunches underneath your boots, a metal bucket of snow and glossy ice, copper pennies from Heaven and how a lion suffers a mad delight in battle and beauty is destroyed.
Chapels in dreams and how they can be frightening like a lake of tarry midnight oil set ablaze, a wooden staircase and box fan in a window, a piano with missing teeth, a face like a prostitute, some blue-battered and blood-swollen, bloodshot broken eye from a bar fight in some pukehole and flea city town that no one remembers, the kerosene eyed demons who made the sky fall, the serpents in the spiderwebs, the silken veins and saw-dust floors of lumberyards in the poetic South, black whales on a black sea, the tattered remnants of a burnt flag and badly loved umbrella canopy, a sad and bitter-orange sunset in a cracked glass bottle, the artificial beings and their hot waxen skin, the warm red sands and bright shimmering and scintillating white, the sparkling dragon diamonds pouring through your gentle fingers and an unspeakable name on your cold lips.