That's my favorite poem, btw. Well, that and Jabberwocky are locked in an eternal steel-cage match for supremacy inside my skull. Let's pretend the following is a poem, when actually it's secret agent badly disguised as haiku. Haiku from another world, ready to live in you like a mobile home, and drive you around this terrarium:
There is a world outside, and there are mysteries, and there is silence and strange looks. There are fey eyes and laughter and I am not part of this.
The worst things do not self-edit, the bastard that I was. There is no chamber between mind and mouth. A head full of poison can only speak in toxic sentences. Yet, I forgive, I forget, I do not care.
Midnight closes in, and I feel the maudlin shroud descend. Outside, in the night's land, there are seeds that will not grow, hidden from the hopeful sun, hidden from a gambler, hidden from the if/but/maybe of the cat in the box.
Norse gods, greek gods, but I'm the only god I know, and if I cannot make the sun rise, might I stop believing, cease?
I will live on in smoke and mirrors, when I force myself to laugh.