Alice found a mirror on the table
dusted with a white powder and his prints,
things to be taken in as evidence
of foul play, with the pearls and the sable
snatched away to the South Side to be fenced
the Red Queen/white rabbit in a fable
under a cream sauce, with garlic minced
WC Roberts lives in a mobile home up on Bixby Hill, on land that was once the county dump. The only window looks out on a ragged scarecrow standing in a field of straw and dressed in his own discarded clothes. WC dreams of the desert, of finally getting his first television set, and of ravens. Above all, he writes.