Fri 30 June 1995
By John Mark Schofield in Poetry

The void, the hole gapes open tonight;
jagged, ragged edges,
and you can look down
and never see bottom,
just looking down on endless blackness
till you lose your balance,
lose your focus,
lean forward and teeter on the rim,
and just a breeze,
just a feather touch and you'll be falling,
falling down that hole just like Alice,
but there's no bottom to this one,
no Queen,
and no fucking rabbit.