harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking an...
on account of having lost my head, i'll go ask alice but she's already dead.
she overdosed and is now living in a dream instead -- so i'll untie her seams until her dress drops like a puddle, and i'll watch it circle 'round my crimson ankles.
dazed: i'll drag patterns all over the bathroom floor like art nouveau, in anaemic light, with pupils like big fat stones in my eyes and i'll lock the door, (just thought you should know).
hazed: i have a white rabbit that i got from down the hole, she doesn't kick her legs and sits quite small in my red lap, her fur goes candy-coloured with paws like sweet shrimp on my skin:
and i gaze over at you: "why don't you ask alice?" when the caterpillar's crawled up my thighs and sighs "one side will make you grow smaller and the other really rather tall."
i asked alice, oh yes, when i was small, somewhere in the clouds, quite nubile at nine and waiting for the wonderland to come, and you'd call me dumb but it's really nothing at all.
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