I mistake the trees for clouds at 12:59 AM. On both sides, clothes hung by a plastic pole, hoping the wind will dry their tears. My legs, too long to allow me to straighten them. Too fixed upon my imaginings of you. The walls are a couple of inches nearer and the light escapes to the outside from a door that is tall enough for Alice. There is no bottle that says “Drink Me”, only a command from the head. But inside the rabbit hole, I find a confession that is half said. There is nothing near reach except red lights in towers and the sound of tricycles grunting. But in the imagined lightning, the jabberwocky lost its tongue.
I maintain that I should keep tonight’s memory tomorrow. And if I can’t, I must go hide.