Dream, heading North

In a caravan of sorts
I am sleeping

with a beautiful woman who
is cheating on her Mexican husband.

I, strangely unaligned, am
cheating on no one, besides

we are not “technically speaking”
“fucking.” Not even

technically speaking
to each other, just

sleeping together. It is
pretty & pleasurable.

Just as it is. We stop
in a coastal town

for supplies, particularly
beer. Brief scene

of debt reckoning &
borrowing unresolved ‘til

one of us realizes I have
lots of Canadian dollars.

My lady needs drugs
from the drugstore &

there isn’t one until
someone explains it’s’round

the bend, by
the Castle.

A terrible racket is
taking place in

The Castle Dungeon.
The landlady is screaming

at the Lord of the Land.
Some of this is captured, or,

perhaps, already has been,
by the Sunday Magazine.

There is a feast with
comings & goings &

special guests & photographs of
reputed Visigoths.

Many are known to me,
or others, although, some

are not, at all, there. There are
huge portions of beef &

it falls to the floor in joints
to join the cheese.