I'm busy busy busy
I'm late I'm late I'm late
I've got to meet a rabbit
I've got to meet my fate

For if you trip and stumble
And take a long long fall
You might take some comfort
In the writing on the wall

It says the cakes a lie!
The roses never were red!
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
The last words that they said

There's no time for fantasy
The world's out of hand
Visit Alice another time
Curse that wonderland

We're living in the matrix
Dot dash, dot dot dot dash
We just have to accept it
As we wait for it to crash

One foot in and one foot out
Abstractify, you lazy lout
Yes, I'm sure reality's an illusion
But I can't afford to live in confusion

We're all mad here
the day you accept the bier
the moment you accept the fear
you understand, we're all mad here

We're all sad here
all is sorrow, a single tear
there is no tomorrow,  no home pier
you understand, we're all sad here

We're all angry here
all is lost cause, so strange, so queer
all is far, yet so near
you understand, we're all angry here

As a white rabbit dashes by
As a time flashes by
Late, late, late
for nothing and everything, too late

Travel through the viscous chaos
super Alice uber alles
nationalism and competition disappear
mad hatter brain matter
wondering where’s the next fix
loser palace user malice
building bars around bridges
syrup sanity hear no humanity
off in the foggy distance
mushroom madness Mario Mathers
losing touch with reality
Cheshire Cat **** mired map
leads through a maze with no end.

Go ask Alice in her padded cell
how she took a tumble and fell
down a rabbit hole of illusion
now don’s a straight-jacket of confusion.

Go ask Alice with her veins full of Lithium
how she surrendered to her delirium
of smoking caterpillars and a
grinning feline,
now attached to an Intravenous mainline.

Go ask Alice about her sanity
how it vanished in this asylum of rhapsody
in a fog that is translucent and hypnotic
in her Wonderland of painted narcotics.

We're all a little mad
In this world of spinning dreams.
Where teardrops turn to waterfalls,
And fate's determined by the sea.
We're all a little crazy
In this field of life and love.
With winding roads and rabbit holes,
And things you wouldn't dare speak of.
We're all a bit insane
Each dealt a different hand to play.
Though we shuffle the deck of cards,
The Queen of Hearts will still remain.
We're all a bit bizarre
In this place of mystery.
For time ticks faster, faster still,
A kaleidoscope like history.
We're all a little weird
Like Cheshire grinning ear to ear.
But in this Wonderland of Life,
Grand adventures find us here.
©KSS 8/2015

Wonderland
by Michael R. Burch

We stood, kids of the Lamb, to put to test
the beatific anthems of the blessed,
the sentence of the martyr, and the pen’s
sincere religion. Magnified, the lens
shot back absurd reflections of each face—
a carnival-like mirror. In the space
between the silver backing and the glass,
we caught a glimpse of Joan, a frumpy lass
who never brushed her hair or teeth, and failed
to pass on GO, and frequently was jailed
for awe’s beliefs. Like Alice, she grew wee
to fit the door, then couldn’t lift the key.
We failed the test, and so the jury’s hung.
In Oz, “The Witch is Dead” ranks number one.

Keywords/Tags: Alice, Wonderland, Joan, Arc, martyr, blessed, beatific, religion, witch, Oz, carnival, mirror, lens, jury, kids, lamb, beliefs, faith, sonnet

When I was young, sometimes I’d forget
to be afraid of the Jabberwocky.
I’d skip along beside his emerald-wet
scales, on the sun-strewn sidewalk, me
prattling on about apple ciders
and Lucy Maud Montgomery,
half-humming boats and spiders
beneath a pale sky, dry and summery,
and he would lumber, unsteady, by my side,
trudging heavily through wild glens
till the dusk at long last turned to night
and I remembered his name once again.