Heather in Wonderland

A crooked creek and river of fire

burn paths through old-growth

forests, mantel-melting magma charring beds where hawks once scavenged for fish, the desolation of cypress felt in their scarred, burning knees.

Nuclear

Destruction

The child’s cries silenced by a screaming tree, river birch with tortured roots once fed by this stream.

One who sits in a city pushed the goddamn button, propped up on pretension,

pandered to by sycophanatics painting their bandwagons, wearing

vestiges of vacuous voyeurism,

elevating a pedestrian event

to scandal,

Yesiree Bob—

jaundiced justification jabbing jurisprudence

in the Jabberwocky,

Taunting

the frumious Bandersnatch

with raucous shouts:

O, calloo! Callay!

Playing croquet with the Heathers

(fuck me gently with a chainsaw)

Crafting caustic cocktails—

Who wears the red ribbon now?

Is prom cancelled if

Regina can’t attend?

Would you sell your soul

for a plastic tiara?

Who’d buy it?

Certainly not me.

Let’s have a fucking tea party

on the grounds

of the castle made of cards.

You bring the rabbits

and grin at the cat.

I’ll wear my hat.