alice__s_caterpillar_revisited_by_codydealrules.pngDo you suppose she’s a wildflower,
a cacophony of colours dispersing like seeds?

She could be a moonflower, pale and spiralling,
blanched as a death-wish.

Does she talk in riddles, tie her tongue
with stems, choose her words with precision?

Is she curious, cat-like in her prowl, or meek,
boneless as a doll and flimsy as new-born paws?

Do you suppose she’s our kind of person,
bull-headed, hooves cleaved to the ground?

Does she know who she is, or is she dazed
as a smokescreen, sideways as a crab,

lungs blazing with those insistent vowels –
____________________________who who who who are you?