One incautious effort too many

ONE INCAUTIOUS EFFORT TOO MANY

Alice is so pleased, so hopeful now they're starting out.

The purple tinged masses massive barriers of boughs

and snow crunching in all directions, demand her closest observation.

And she thinks up paint words, taste words, sensation words.

There are woods, but Alice sees beeches, oaks and sycamores,

there's a carpet of snow, but Alice examines the individual crystals.

And if she'd throw caution away and make that extra effort

she might push through to realising structures: “Going for a walk”,

“Having a conversation”. The others are laughing about “Hansel and Gretel”,

and woods as a symbol of sex, to them, this walk is real.

It has no unity for Alice, numbing snow

annihilates all thought, the plants aren't gentle, they are brambles.

Alice stubs her brain against these obstacles,

they'll never become symbols. She's tearful, her replies are sullen,

her brains are stubbed so badly they are bleeding.