17 (White Rabbit)

“One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you, don’t do anything at all”
–Grace Slick (Jefferson Airplane), “White Rabbit”

I wake up down a rabbit hole,
sans hookah smoking
caterpillar,
white rabbits mad as hatters
in full attendance,
hopping garden fences and
gorging on the
earth

there are letters seared into smoking
fur, and as they hop the words
come clear, 1, 2, 3,
power, cunning, empathy,
endless parade of
white fluff flashing by,
cards in kindergarten,
teaching dangerous words
to distracted
five-year-olds

where is the goddamn Queen of
Hearts when you need something
stiffer than a cup of tepid
tea? what does a soul
consumed by a
mushroom
drown the sorrow with,
and once you wear
off
do you float back
softly, crying,
down?

Poem by Shane Douglas Keene

READ THE SERIAL NOVEL BY JOSH MALERMAN