Fever Dreams

Crystal stars in velvet skies that take away my alibis,
A golden fruit
A cotton cloud
A stream of consciousness, a crowd
That rages as it moves ashore
A house of shells, a whitewashed door
Im gliding smoothly, breathing slow
A sandbank made of glass below
The cottage opens, falling out
A Cheshire Cat, without a doubt!
He grins. "Well, dear, you're not the first, come step inside and quench your thirst."
A pang of doubt. A tiny door?
This story's one I've heard before.
A labeled jug, a toothy smile
"Perhaps I'll come back in a while..."
I'm gliding on. I see a street. The waves are cool; they brush my feet.
My refuge seems to lie ahead.
A sign of wood, and painted red:
With letters stating place and name,
Announcements of colloquial fame.
I breeze serenely, feel the stares, the gossips with provincial airs.
I meet a woman, old and bent:
"Come here, my dear. My humble tent."
I step inside and utter darkness envelopes my glowing heart.
A flash of colored light, a scream...
I slip, deep in my fever dream.