Down the Rabbit Hole

I stretch out my arms to catch a sprawling nothing.

Down I spin, up, around, and over

Until I land, feet flat, before a glittering mansion

Pulsing with electric vibrancy, a million revelers

Passing through its revolving doors,

Gulping tea in china cups that somehow do not shatter

As they stumble and fall.


From room to room I run: a greenhouse, a gymnasium, a garden.

A grinning cat greets from atop a fragrant rose bush,

Whether out of hunger or loneliness,

I cannot tell.

Breathless, I arrive at the library and slam the door,

The sound echoing in a ghostly chamber of unrequited peace,

Shattered by six blaring accusations

Of the old grandfather clock.

I follow a low murmur to a long dining room table

Of tea and jam and crystal

And a man engulfed by a hat as big as he.

As I sit to begin my tea, the cup is snatched from my lips.

Get up! Sit down! Move! Up! No! Down!

I am prodded and shoved into musical chairs,

The only accompaniment the tinny voice of my companion,

Slurred, syrupy molasses at once slow and frantic.

Get up! No! Sit down! Up! Go!


Around the corner, a shadow reeks of calculated sanity and charisma;

I crash into a man smiling with the fondness of an old friend.

The monocle, the gold suit, the consumptive cologne of roses

Bind my eyes to his.

With a curious smile, he extends his hand

Through a dark, tumbling descent,

Through the throng of partygoers all gone mad,

Through a warning feline grin.

His hand is clammy and ice cold.

“How do you do? I'm Jay Gatsby.”


This poem is about: 
Our world
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