To the Garden with Teacups

Still Dada, Still Dodo? Observation is my nature.
Am Alice to to her Redness, seeking answers to prompts
And absorbing waterways, sandpits and divets for a future
Promoting change, gallerie de movement by Duchamp's

She, We, I travel together alone -- survey billet night parlours
Deny stopping at gingerbreaded and curtained gables on dusty roads 'til
Grandin Temple's charcoal cow herds won't follow 'er
Spying some Mastiff-shouldered Magpie over roadkill -- well...

Finding ourselves early in the grave, we should find it funny.
The queen halts the parade, walks, and declares partway:
"All We Are Missing is Wind, Tea and Honey!"
Enormous hat stays firm -- head bowed to the worm pathway.

We march -- The bones in my hips dissolve, nerves bare
To the Heart Queen's home, path endless, Subjects headless.
I cannot sleep now -- smell that cold air --
There are dark stories ever tied to her avocation.

Artful gardens came to be, ever so long before we.
Torrents of life stinging; meditation bowl ringing,
Glossed canvas pre-dates me. Adding strokes of Dark like tea...
Warm seeded beds, to travel alone is less complication.

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