Rolling through blacktop slopes,
Gliding to the trees,
Passing them one by one,
Chopped at ankles, missing feet.
Where have you run little toes?
Is it the cold that makes you hide?
I can recall, swift, giant strides made,
Knightly trunks take rise!
They cannot hear, nor can I speak,
amnesic of native tongue,
No, not a twitch, nor leaf, nor branch,
I zoom by, missing old chums.
Down now to the pits:
Green, white, brown, black, tan.
Vertigo between the ears,
Nausea in a bout.
What a nasty trail to take,
Slipping on down this hole.
Wanting lures of the unknown,
Forgetting truths told, and told, and told.
Where is Alice?
Where is Peter?
Mr. White Rabbit- hallo?
Muted colors, simplistic catatonia-inducing mirage.
Once you're here- succumb.
Watch your promising yesterday,
Madness in her form.
When I was young I remember looking out the car window and seeing the trees running by. I miss them from time to time.