Terry Lowenstein

More than just painful dissection of a line of thought,
torture with a sharp point.

This searching for creatures
spawned in the land through the mirror.

Follow the footpath of the white rabbit,
discover what Alice could not mention
for fear of revisiting nightmares unimaginable.

At the road labeled English turn into the forest,
here Gerunds share tree limbs
with Participles that dangle.

Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee
nouns and verbs openly wrestle,
in search of their own identity.

Sometimes labeled cruelly wrong
they wobble off to search,
for objects to share a line with.

Perhaps dreaming not of the nightmare
the waits at the end of the point, oblivion.
But rather the joy of being grouped
together as examples of Grammatical Rule.
And some day glorifying in being shared
with the minds of youth

But you dear reader should know
the truth and poor Alice will quake
in her grave to hear it.

Such words alas more often than
not end up feeding the wastebasket
and the exercises that lead to their discovery
are banished willingly from thought.

Except for the warped minds of those
who laugh as they prepare, the final exam.