*       *

*     *    Or    *     *

*  “How to start a fiction?”  *

*     *          *     *

*        *

At the beginning?

Was there ever such a thing?

Or

A first untruth whence fables spring…

To what end?

And where to wend…

Curvewise about a sub-titular anagram: “Tonic tart?” hoots Waif

A-stray alter-Alice sets an underground less wonderful

than darkly humoured. Maked and baked

in fealty, ink, underskirts. Loins

tulled, ribbon-stockinged

Florilegia at the V&A,

fervently abstruse

orectic poetics

– celluloid

refrains

broke-

n.

A-

verse

-ly self-

reflexive.

Perplexions –

unfaced; unbacklit

biographs holographed

to plum-sifted fairy tales –

biting their own tails. Cusps and

piecrusts cut from the thyme and time of

a slivered reciprocal dream-glass where magnificated

meanings grow and shrink in the silvery river to drown or drink.

And what is the use of a book without pictures or conversation?

Language paints pictures in the mind’s eye, you see, of kittens in queen-crowns and a pepperpot bee.

I think I should understand that better if I had it written down.

Certainly, just pass me that writing desk, parchment and quill, teapot and thimble – and presently I will…

…..Explanations take such a dreadful.….

       

time

DRUM the BEAT

BELT the DRAM

DRAW the BELL

FELL the CRAW

CLAW the FALL

down

down

down

to

find the TIME TINE FINE FIND the time!

Six past seven hourly minutes in a monthly doubled sum of similar years to be not very precisely precise.

The whole swelled too fleshed for pressing,

The core grown too pipped to hollow.

Bruises bled too reddened

To slyly slice.

Barefaced.

Too unchaste

For the taste

Of the hatterpillar.

Dammed out from the sea

The damned serpent to Eve

On the eve of a verdant Spring,

Lying low with fair praise

Lo at night he fare preys

Versant knight who doth see everything.

With spry gothic logic the storm-weathered crow ravenously clutches his best to his breast. A fantastical, mathematical, garnished memorandum (tableau’d, potmanteau’d, loveted) unwrest from whimsically, mimsically decanted magic, palatably proffered in fruit brews unvined. Mixtures of marvellousness, surreally seasoned, with not being thereness and muchness of mind.

This dodo is playing with kitlets and puplets

A game of nonsensical triplets and doublets,

He swallows their meanings in niblets and nublets

With treacle at tea time in siplets from couplets.

Bored dollkins napping, bobbing waters lapping

At the late gloaming shadows of rowboats

Darkly shored.

Make believe snarkly

Mirroring facts arcly;

Incomprehensible inconsequence

Clasped,

Ungrasped

By little hearts,

Quelled,

Deep

In the niche

Of rime riche,

Unresolvedly adored.

Outwith, within the burrowed, beckoning stark space of unsated, inveigling textuality.

♥ ♥ ♥

        

It’s enough to drive one crazy!

Alice Liddell – Aliis Liddell – Alwis Ciddell – Alwis Cirrel – Lewis Cirrell – Lewis Carroll