patent leather rain pelts morse code
on amber waves of multi-grain
and christmas geese guard easter goslings from black hawks
there’s a madman at the lake
throwing fishing line into emeralds,
singing to the willow weeping there
he’s looking for the 9am express to Never Never Land
but where’s the door, Alice? no. silly.
Alice doesn’t live there anymore. ask for Tink.
he’s the fool at the lake
mouthing god’s words…
and alarmed at cat calls in infant growls
everything is something else, he says
nothing needs to be what it is
he knows it.
the world is this… mixed nuts