a biomechanical rabbit
runs
frantically
internal atomic clock
ticking,
ticking,
ticking
towards Def-Con five
(and mutually-assured destruction)
while a little blonde-haired
android
watches
in heuristic fascination,
parsing lucid logic-strings
that seem
to make no sense, on purpose
a perplexing peculiarity
that entices
and entrances
so!
with unknown mechanisms:
a cyber-kinetic glove
that amplifies the crushing
grip
of reality and synthetic
lubricants
that reduce the friction
of fiction
falling,
falling,
falling
down
an exotic rabbit-hole
(upholstered in Versace)
in a painted pointillist garden
where a smoking-hookah tractor
crushes mushrooms
under caterpillar treads
and
the cards are on the table
but
the Red Queen has been pawned
for a fresh bottle of
"Drink Me"
(or a cracked rock of "Smoke Me")
in a decrepit condo built of
mercury-laden oyster shells
up for auction now
by a walrus with a pretty face
(whom we all thought was dead)
(anorexic, like the Carpenter?)
as a frenetic feral feline
finds its way
on foggy Chicago feet
to a long-forgotten shoreline
by the looking-glass refraction
of a sympathetically sarcastic
smile
that is fading,
fading,
fading...