Go Ask Alice


Go ask Alice
what it means to be small
lost among the tallness
of so many higher concerns.

Ask her about
the bitter pink potions
and the sugary sweet phrases
that mean nothing kind.

Ask her about the dizzy spells
that clutter up your fingertips
until your sighs become oceans
for fishes to swim in.

Ask her about crazy people
who are more real than any
who claim gentile faces
and whisper like harpies.

Ask her about uncertainty
the drawing of a smile
that means less than one
notable frown

Tumbling down a rabbit hole
seems so much more reasonable
than twitching like a broken tail
among those who claim no tears
and refuse to dry them.

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