On our visit we stayed at the octagon house—and were sleepless in view of the eight-sided land.Uncombed grass webbed the sides of the angled veranda.And on one side of the eight-sided landthe incandescent lanterns of the doll shops flickered on.And we stretched out to sleep in the blue rosemalinghouses of Uvdal, and the melon-colored housesof Forget-Me-Not, under the cool, peninsular hillsbeyond the spruces and glass-covered A-frames.And we were stressed out and wakeful on Zoloftand Asendin in the atomic houses of Pripyat,and insomniac in the blue-stanchioned shadowsof Shasta Dam—and through the blackberry vinesthat covered the round cement windowgrew dizzy watching distant waterfalling silently over the spillway.Some heaven-shining-august childseemed to be petting a deerthat was grazing yellow grassbeyond the hydroelectric building.And we were somnambulists at sunset in Anchoragewhere German tourists had gathered arounda gargantuan piece of jade, saying nothing,while it revolved there before them, coldas a fire clock steeped in withering rebukes.And we dozed in the bean-pod houses in the fieldsunder the mushroom umbrellas of Poisonville.Our nerves were stretched out on the grasslike sea kelp or sea nerves that have washed upand been strung out to dry in the high seagrass.And we came to a boil in the teakettle houses,became bird people living off the grid, becamerebels, bearcats, masters of inadvertency.Will you then lie spent on the coolmushroom bed when you are down againby the mill-track and the fernery?Will you contemplate the stupid grapefruit,the tedious eggplant, the intellectual thorn?And will you wake up fresh and confusedin a place you have been borne to for asylumlike a chick just hatched from a fire-colored egg?And will you see the starshipsdrifting over rain-colored mountains?The copper-streaked leavesthat shine in the pattering rain?