It might be the pungent steam from a ***
steeping herbs meant to bend its sippers'
minds to potent effect, or an unanticipated
digestive reckoning from that mawkishly flavored
brand of store-bought paste they pass as butter.

However the dough arises, their collective
recollection of storied events, lengthwise sliced
and ritually rehearsed, hops facilely on the ****
of a bucking and overtly nonsensical wind.

Tea parties with slippery perspectives
have been shown quite clinically to induce
heightened sensitivity in participants,
so it's prudent to set about tidying the facts:

The hatter, it's become clear, shifted one place
too many and disappeared with a trace -- leaving
behind his hat to nobody's great advantage.
Lacking a wearer, the headgear's reputation for
producing madness has rapidly diminished.

The march hare pulls off his change in a very
separate and seasonal way: the bunny's
bottom half somersaults its top to occupy
both his spot and the hatter's vacated seat.

The dormouse upon its latest arousal
is re-visioned to be small, but not much mouse
at all. He's plush with the long-in-the-ear habit
of a pink stuffed rabbit, which the crusading hare
furiously declares is most curious, casting
doubt on the vermin's commitment to "no room."

Alice remains foremost in tact and is given
a bonus of two spare feet complete with slackened
bootstraps. She keeps them and her other luxury
items well-sheltered behind a stout table leg.

The absentee hatter doesn't dare shame her
with a radio-show call-in decrying
the waste. She's generously agreed to
cover the medical expenses from his firm flop.

I have lost my words
Which I turn to for repose and release
They have disappeared and transformed
Into slurred speeches and mismatched colors
My fingers, they search for comfort
Lacing each other in confusion

I cannot find the words I am looking for
My thoughts have remained quiet for too long
What I thought was a spectrum I could rely on
Is as bland and dull as the skin I have worn

My eyes are a perception of lies
Only visualizing in black and white
My mouth a conception of verbal conundrum
Confusing and replacing words
Once so facilely found

I am born into a world
I'm not even sure I can call my own
I do not know where I am from
I cannot find the words I wish for anymore

n.j.



https://perennialink.wordpress.com/2015/11/06/unpoetic/

"are you done for tonight?"
"yeah.. i'm just going to write... i mean lay! yeah, lay"
"good, hope to see you tomorrow"

it was inevitable that he is going to break the promise
a shallow habit of irreparable memories and scars
breaking the law, breaking the physics of a fellow inhabitant
the pumped longing warrants his revealed debility
he sat next to the desk, the illuminance from the lamp pervades his empty heart
there was a notebook, a blank one which has been waiting to be overdrawn by emotions
the pen however, layed in darkness and it didn't want to do anything
it just layed there, alone with negligence written through its whole look
he lifelessly brought it on his hand, looked at it carelessly, then threw it to litter

his posture has changed dramatically, it looked like he was ready for everything
he closed the notebook, leaving the blank pages - blank, but the mind was still filled
as he stood up, he started to feel a little weak, maybe he really needed some sleep
the mind was still full of inextricable thoughts that he firmly intended to express
over the night he didn't sleep, he just stood three inches above the desk, above the lamp
he elucidated his unexpected feelings, the wholesome truth has been ascertained and submerged...
his delicate body has been floating around, showing how much his soul didn't weigh
his heart was made of a gas, a gas lightest from air, it just volatillized through exhauster
and as we and him knew how much of a light-heart he is, we didn't perceive the facilely discerned truth
it was inevitable that she has broken his heart, completely