Wonderland

In my world
Broken whores have angels' wings
Cyrillic doves have bees' stings
And all is topsy-turvey.

My words are converted into song
My short-cropped hair is unexpectedly long
My wizened recent history rings in my head
Alighting past feelings long dead

I am reminded of a place
Where we walked on transparent skies
And made wishes upon falling leaves
There, love never dies.

And we used to point at grass
Lying sprawled on our backs against the moss
Of clouds and mist
There, your fingers grabbed my wrist.

But our contact was not physical
Nor did my speeding soul belong to anything clinical
Ours was a contact of souls
In one moment, devoid of all goals

For a milisecond
That lasted an hour
We were both sincere
And sweet felt the moment, otherwise sour

In my world,
The Cheshire Cat
Cries behind its Cheshire grin
But all other souls smile from within.

In my world
There are no masters to the sand
Nor to the lightning, nor the word
My world, my dear, is Wonderland.

And I am not some sort of Alice
Belonging to bourgeoisie
I am simply the sower of a world without malice
Wonderland is, in fact, me.