Post by goldenmyst on Jul 5, 2019 22:56:19 GMT -6
Tea Party At the Edge of Forever
The madhouse is as mythical for us as the sunken continent of Atlantis. But I am prone to seizures like a drunk gets the shakes. So one blessed day I find myself in the midst of epilepsy blackout which is like a rabbit hole which even the March Hare couldn’t find his way out of. Then my brain climbs out of its cave with the crawl of a spelunker who follows a map to nowhere. This is especially true because I make a wrong turn on the way up. There I find myself at the wackiest tea party in the universe. I am an unlucky sort of fellow because the Mad Hatter serves the tea but the more he pours the less tea is in the cup until it is empty.
The March Hare’s cup is filled properly and I am wondering if I am unwelcome here. But the Cheshire Cat sits on his bough with eyes which say abandon all sanity ye who cannot decipher the poems presented forthwith. And so without further ado, the Mad Hatter recites his poetry as if to annoy more than receive praise.
King Minos and the traveling jug band
played for the exchequers of enlightenment
at the tea party at the edge of forever
They sang the psychedelic blues to the mad jackal
sweet as Cherry Garcia savored
while bathed in angelic moonbeams
under the hobo roof of the sky
I offer my applause in the hopes that if I scratch his back he will scratch mine by directing me upwards and onwards to drink tea in my own kitchen with my own wife. But still, there aren’t even any crumpets at this nonsensical tea party.
The Hatter’s parade of vanity rolls on with another tidbit to confuse the hapless listener. Like a child reciting his nursery rhymes, he gives me another poem to misconstrue.
Sister Raven Hair Surprise
finds Buddha in the woodpile
selling bargain prayer wheels
for her Zen on a budget, the seller tells canonical tales
of marigold meditations in a bathysphere
Sister more fascinated
by Latvian mating rituals than his spiritual gumbo
She seeks hexagonal love in four dimensions
This time my hands don’t clap. I lift my teacup and turn it upside down to see if it can be filled for my mouth is parched and my mind is askew. Adding some normalcy would make this party all the more fun. The March Hare waves to me and I follow him down a rabbit hole and out to the kitchen where Sonja waits with a smile and a teapot whistling. She says, “You had another seizure. But you came too before the paramedics got here. Would you like to go to the hospital?”
I reply, “You are the best nurse for my condition. Just make me an appointment with the neurologist and I’ll be just fine.”
She asks, “Would you like some tea?”
I reply, “This is my kind of tea party.”
“Not sure what you’re referring to but if tea can make you that happy who am I to ask.”
The madhouse is as mythical for us as the sunken continent of Atlantis. But I am prone to seizures like a drunk gets the shakes. So one blessed day I find myself in the midst of epilepsy blackout which is like a rabbit hole which even the March Hare couldn’t find his way out of. Then my brain climbs out of its cave with the crawl of a spelunker who follows a map to nowhere. This is especially true because I make a wrong turn on the way up. There I find myself at the wackiest tea party in the universe. I am an unlucky sort of fellow because the Mad Hatter serves the tea but the more he pours the less tea is in the cup until it is empty.
The March Hare’s cup is filled properly and I am wondering if I am unwelcome here. But the Cheshire Cat sits on his bough with eyes which say abandon all sanity ye who cannot decipher the poems presented forthwith. And so without further ado, the Mad Hatter recites his poetry as if to annoy more than receive praise.
King Minos and the traveling jug band
played for the exchequers of enlightenment
at the tea party at the edge of forever
They sang the psychedelic blues to the mad jackal
sweet as Cherry Garcia savored
while bathed in angelic moonbeams
under the hobo roof of the sky
I offer my applause in the hopes that if I scratch his back he will scratch mine by directing me upwards and onwards to drink tea in my own kitchen with my own wife. But still, there aren’t even any crumpets at this nonsensical tea party.
The Hatter’s parade of vanity rolls on with another tidbit to confuse the hapless listener. Like a child reciting his nursery rhymes, he gives me another poem to misconstrue.
Sister Raven Hair Surprise
finds Buddha in the woodpile
selling bargain prayer wheels
for her Zen on a budget, the seller tells canonical tales
of marigold meditations in a bathysphere
Sister more fascinated
by Latvian mating rituals than his spiritual gumbo
She seeks hexagonal love in four dimensions
This time my hands don’t clap. I lift my teacup and turn it upside down to see if it can be filled for my mouth is parched and my mind is askew. Adding some normalcy would make this party all the more fun. The March Hare waves to me and I follow him down a rabbit hole and out to the kitchen where Sonja waits with a smile and a teapot whistling. She says, “You had another seizure. But you came too before the paramedics got here. Would you like to go to the hospital?”
I reply, “You are the best nurse for my condition. Just make me an appointment with the neurologist and I’ll be just fine.”
She asks, “Would you like some tea?”
I reply, “This is my kind of tea party.”
“Not sure what you’re referring to but if tea can make you that happy who am I to ask.”
