by the Cheshire Cat

She cuts herself raw with eyes
that seem to bleed non-stop.
And within that ventricular you call a heart
its empty and lifeless
pale and devoid of motion.

She's died.

She's walking aimlessly through
the crowd
wandering if someone could see her
reach her
and pull her back to safety.
But they're blind, unseeing and moving
as if the keys are wound in their backs
and their sightless eyes are of no use
for the body is just that
a machine.


She stands at the edge of the cliff
with the wind blowing sonnets into her ears and hair.
She's teased at and laughed
and finally there's the faintest glimpse of a
Falling, arms spread wide
like the wings of a soaring eagle.
And the crash of the waves swallow her
and her being
leaving behind a tiara of roses;
of thorns bleeding.