As far as we know Rasputin, William Blake, St. Teresa, and Walt Whitman had never lived in the green house, but they would have been welcome if they had wandered in.
Let’s go then and knock on the door.
All you’ve got to do is step right up.
All you’ve got to do is ring that bell.
You can come as you are and you can leave your hat on.
There’s nothing to be hung about.
There is some wine for the asking, music always playing, pipes forever smoking. Perhaps there will be some hashish or the more exotic opium. Perhaps there will someone to meet and take home later. Perhaps there will be a chance for love among these phantoms — among these phantoms we have set to sleep in music that our dreams remind us.