A carriage would come by pillow streets to take me
to the continent.  Pillow streets to a continent built on clouds.
	But I lost the mystery there, on the continent.  The mystery
that brought the carriage to me on all those bedtime travels.
	I lost the mystery, on the continent, to the hoard of
tongues and mouths.  I lost the mystery to the mordant, trailing 
horde.  My dreams have retched me up without my mystery.
	The stomach of dreaming curdled against me.