A lounge to sit with
Old couches and
Red paint peeling like a
Being ebbing feeling
Losing the mysteries
Its history kept secret
When you pour
Into porcelain
Liquid medicine
Cut tea
That breaks the rim
Of fine china where
Your lips meet
And invoke the dream
Following the Vale of Tears
To the infernal train
Hopping aboard and getting
Your ticket punched
And a tea bag issued
The conductor knows
What you want before
You do and knows how to
Brew when you come through
On coach and you’re speeding
Down the rails
And the sipping
Warms you up
Third rail is screaming
And your imagination
Is seeming
To fade back to
The couches in the room
Surrounded by books
Brew
And honey and sugar
Welcomed back
Like you never left
And no one
Noticed
Consume Reality! 