I want to live in a poet’s house,
like a little field mouse
living in a…
field.
.
I want to have an ‘upstairs’
and a reciprocal ‘downstairs’
connected by an Escher staircase,
which might
(or might not*)
take me from the one
to the other.
.
I want to live in a poet’s head
the wide-open spaces,
the crazy, made up places,
and the inmates…
oh, the inmates.
.
I want to live where secrets are spread,
where skies uphold dragons’ wings,
and seas can turn from blue to red;
where things are created by the thought of them
and stories lead to adventures and wonder
under those skies.
And there will always be something new
to be said
about the imminent pandemonium
of a poet’s head.
.
.
*It won’t
Graeme Sandford 
If you don’t live in a poet’s house, does that mean you live in the dark alleys, homeless, wandering?
Literally (or Laterally), yes. G:)