Twas brillig...

The Cheshire cat sees you in the window,
the window, widow, and willow sit screaming at each other
from across the lands of seraduse and the kitchen.
It was a castle of stanzad verbrottoes,
a purple rain on the sun.
The Which considered the witch and twitched
and then giggled,
staring at the moon,
dripping,
from the sky to the tree.

What can we take with us,
the pine asks the firebird,
sitting and knitting
and twitting
the mundane and catastrophic.

Move that beat,
faster and further
than serpintine
sliding down throats.

Vanity was trafficked
through the looking glass,
and the Order,
is sitting in the back row.

Science became the blame
of the apothecary knowledge
of the Reason of Age.

Fortunetellers on the sides
of buses,
gave way to cosmetics
and formaldihyde.
I can see you.

Blame it on the “witchcraft society”
and the "homosexual agenda"
all you want, honey,
but the bitch
with the red dress and slacks,
would be me.