flaming red copper flamingos
stalk the lawns below the double windows,
while we the insane stay safe within
the crystal walls of the summer ice palace.
Alice slipped in the back door
one hundred and eighty one years ago
on a soaring emu with banged up knees
and elbows plastered with anise
and wax woven by triangular bees
We three. The mole the rat
and the hippo-potta-mouse
are refined gentlemen who choose
Like pelicans, we adore the mad elegance
of this perpendicular lunatic asylum
A tangle of letters and words and cardboard covers,
We wait in the leaves for young fingers and eyes
to be surprised as we flee across white pulp terrain
pursued by a rabbit and a little red hen.
Insane, not at all, this madhouse of glass and mud walls
is a construct of imagination, a sensation of prose.
As for the emus, they are real of course,
with elbows and wrists and large eyes that ogle,
I know cause I once found a picture on google