I just asked myself that question...I am at a loss for words.
Two years of my life is in this book. It is just as big of a chunk of me as the other two poetry books I wrote, regardless of page count.
I am still trying to find my voice, finding ways to further expose myself to lovers and stalkers. I try to dig deeper into my influences, dust off the ones I haven't read in a while and find a new reason to love them all over again.
It's been a big long dry spell for me, been bothering me for a couple of years now with small intervals of inspiration in between. But I find my heart is growing, and finding new things I want to say. The trouble is, my heart isn't always connected to my tongue.
I've been dwelling on the same muses for too long.
I still long for the slightest touch, but it's drifting further back into my past and becoming harder to imagine as a reality, due to my increasingly established current situation. Wanting it isn't enough, I will have to literally dig up the roots which have grown deep into life's soil.
All of this is in Alice at the Spa...and more.
I have attempted to bring new muses to the canvas, which have revealed a more erotic side. Discovering Anais Nin played a key role in this, as did a few new friends.
But still, I let my past plague me. These last eight years have been, shall we say, illuminating. I don't know how I can ever fully let go. It's become part of me, it's intertwined with my DNA and all possibly psychosomatic. I believe it, therefore it must be true. I haven't been told otherwise, so I hang on.
What good does it do? I've hidden away my great treasures, only to take a peek occasionally when I am alone. An old brown journal, a photograph, several cherished books and music albums. I believe these are the key to when I was most happy...so naively happy, and yet so stupid to have sabotaged it.
But there I go again...
I am Alice. I have seen strange things and known some fascinating characters. Scott, my Mad Hatter. Mary, my Caterpillar. Mandy, my Dormouse. Sarah Jean, my Cheshire Cat. Matthew, my Mock Turtle. They've all gone down the rabbit hole with me, and have also become part of me.
Go ask Alice...I think she'll know...
My nightly dreams
Which confuse and taunt me
With sensations that surprise
(Considering the cause)
That I can be touched in such a way
That I am on fire
and the hands behind the touch
Stem from an unlikely one.
Attempts at reciprocation
Winds up with my body shocked
By the electric current,
Laser beams blackening my nails
and my eyes seeing someone else
Winking from around the corner.
Do I know you?