Whilst gawking on Amsterdam’s Dam Square in front of palace…

I count three unicorns high on the palace.
How many more inside is hard to tell
outside here on the Dam persuading Alice
it’s not the pills she ate that made her swell.
Her bare midriff – think Kodiak or grisly –
embarrasses the sycophants of thin.
They slim themselves with heroin, draping paisley
over what’s left of their bodies. Brothers Grimm
could use their lives for stories – nothing more.
Their death’s-head grins make Alice think of autumn –
dead leaves, and mercury-poisoned fish ashore.
And the children she left as lightly as she bought them.