Octember
I go in to the house of my childhood and dreams.
A heavy wooden beam lies across the entrance to the loft. I push the beam away and see my third birthday's tricycle.
Over the back of the house appears an old monastery of fantastic buildings which are tall and gothic. A pagoda is on stilts like swan's legs. I take you there.
Through the dovecote mists our love expands as vapour. We follow a path of wells.
Our friend Judy waits at the entrance preparing sandwiches. It is dark. All the buildings here rest on the perimeter of the oval courtyard.
I read the inscription on what appears to be an old schoolhouse. It was my nursery school's neighbouring brothel of course.
We go back to Judy with the sandwiches and climb a hill.
As we approach the summit we see brightly coloured beaked sheep walking past- they are happy to see us. There is sweetness and danger in the air.
As we follow them down the hill I call out to remind you not to touch one. But it's too late.
Male, musician, born 1962