A Night in Your Head

And suddenly you are Alice in Wonderland
where size makes no sense
and madness is the norm
and colors are just a tad too bright
and even the evil seems mad,
but no madder than the love scenes.
Ceilings are too high and there are no windows,
only dim lights in all the wrong places.
There is music of course, vaguely Victorian,
and the sailboat of your youth awaits
as stubby can-can dancers giggle in the corner,
each carrying a pitard.
You have the sense you are waiting for the devil,
dressed in his Brooks Brothers suit of many colors,
laughing, but not like his heart is in it.
Your boat walks away on four legs
and beckons.

You are no fool,
at least not in your dreams.
You follow.

About this poem

I had strange dreams last night. So despite the similarities, this one is not about current politics and culture.

I did once have a small sailboat that I bought when I was 14 and kept until I was in my thirties. It did not have legs.

The picture was taken a year ago at Mass MoCA. I miss museums.

Tom