Alice Awake Poem by Crystal Rosser

She melds within the clock's red midnight ticking-that fair, almond-haired bitch
And the old rabbit fancies to run white with her, wildly a-gloom.

She lost herself in the great heaps of timber and fire storm; fret naught of the night
Whose full moon has casted light-
Fret naught of the tall trees,
Nor of the stinging bees,
Not even a tolling chime echoing from the dark seas-
For this moment is but a haze,
A foggy dream inside a corn maze.

Should he find her, as the storm ignites; submerged in thick smoke-
He should take from her, longingly
Steal from her, effortlessly
Whilst dancing to the pulse of time
And touching her tenderly, I say
Awake.