oh, but no, she doesn't believe...
Alice doesn't have days of birth
here, there is no reprieve and
here are only
and its better not to stay
or anything else
little Alice does not live here anymore
all her birthday hopes are stowed away
on her shelf
the one in the cobwebbed corner behind the
door that's fallen off its hinge
and a scream is rising though her nose is
the dreamland that was never
and thus never began
and has worn down and worn out
the veneer of it so tightly thin
you could prick it with a pin
the mangled talking mirror predicts that she
clearly is in the mix
of a predicament
what could it mean
when no one honors the date
that you were sent
(not to be seen)
down to the earthly plain
don't you don't you don't you
wish me wish me anything again
hate hate hate that tiresome trite refrain
unquietly reminding that
that time of year has pounced again.
Yes, Happy Un-Birthday, darling.
How you wear the minutes down.
Now blow the candles out.
Copyright June 17, 2012 All Rights Are Reserved By this Author
Melissa A Howells Meloo from her Tilt-a-World
reference to Lewis Carroll's Alice In Wonderland, but Alice has taken on a new identity,
and that is my identity in a dream.