even logic’s said its good-bye.
Literary nonsense couldn’t prepare us more
For You licking gruel off the ground floor
North-south, or East-West?
now the cheshire cat asks in jest.
your habitual grandson-to-grandson trips a month ago
that’s when Your mind’s concession decided to go
We can afford it
A private car, private carriage,
only when your mind’s turned to cabbage.
Grant you your shimmery rosary beads
Drawn by a foreign tanned steed
Train is coming, train is coming
In case of emergency, press to hear the fat lady sing.
Or if You’d prefer, I have Your storybook, let’s go
Thud-thud-thud-again, down the Rabbit Hole