Later it's raining and we have to take a car. It's an exercise bike. What a time to tell me, the solar wind has sandpapered everything as smooth as quartz. Now it's back to the finish line with you. You're not quite out of the woods yet.
Dreamland has other pastures, other melodies to chew on.
Hummingbirds mate with dragonflies beneath the broken dome of the air, and it's three o'clock, the sun is raining mineral-colored candy. It'd like one of these. Now I'm glad we came. I hate drafts though and the sun is slowly moving away. I'm standing on the poopdeck wiggling colored pennants at the coal-colored iceberg that seeems to be curious about us, is sliding this way and that, then turns abruptly back into the moors with their correct hills in the distance.