Atrox

Deep down in a smiling bucket swimming clouds.
If it was up to me this house would be almost seven hundred years old and more than thirteen kilometres tall.
I would sit in a rocking chair, creaking along with an out-of-tune piano and an orchestrion that always tricks me with ever-changing tempo
I'd be able to walk in the ceiling. I would eat nebula for supper. I would wear a necklace made of strung hailstones.
The well outside would be an eye that stares itself blind at the moon. The water would sob. There would be two winds moaning.