On the way to wonderland

On the way to wonderland

I don't understand
but the hunched over
homeless
lady in the wheelchair
on my train
surely tries
to solve the riddles
of why that
other woman
in the streets started to
cry
helplessly
just like that
and hasn't
stopped
yet.

She'll fail
probably;

Crying is too
complex.

(but then again
maybe
this one homeless
lady
knows it all.)

I think
in any case
she knows
of small dogs
barking
at smiling girls
who sell
charity newspapers.

I think
she knows
about this small
thing
inside of me
I like to call
brain.

I think she knows
that it fails
too,

and that meanwhile
punks
beatify
academics
with a swift
sleight
of hand

and the
crossword puzzle
in her shaky hands
is nearly
finished.

But
just why that
woman
in the streets
started to
cry
helplessly
and hasn't stopped
since
we'll never know.