Wednesday, 3 April 2024

Day 3 : Surreal Prose Poem

 

Wonderland Underworld
The Red Queen wonders where all the hearts came from.
The vanquished, the torn. The ones in jars, pickled in regret,
their muscled tartness reduced now to metaphor.
She wears an inverted heart as a crown, a permanent pursed
lip frown, her scarlet dress threadbare and worn.
Where did all the passion go?
The days are long now. Each sunset a thorn
in her velvet armour. Time is a bone-white clock that ticks
somewhere over her, a Cheshire smiling moon.
Every heartbeat a harried old tune.
Off with their...Oh she can't be bothered. Goes to fix
her narcissus garden, each day a flower beheaded
to adorn a golden throne. What was the definition of madness?
Her heels upturn. A frayed hat, a rabbit's lucky white paw.
Tomorrow and tomorrow she will meet the....
opposite of doom? But what is ever-after unless you accept
the mundanity of doing the same thing over and over again
ad infinitum... Seeds replace stars. If she plays her cards right...
hearts, spades, black dreams...A wish gone up in a puff of smoke.
A cat smokes a cigar and lounges upside down in a tree.
Wonder is a break in the normal, how rare.
Her senses regained. Black and white and carmine.
Things falling under. Even a drop of blood fades
to a tear.


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