The Ever Descending Alice

Plunging down
Poor Alice sunk,    
Pouring like a spout.          
Is she falling down          
Or falling up?          
She calls for    
"help!"          
But none's about.        
         
"I need to leave!"    
A novel thought.    
But Alice,  
How she thinks too much.    
"Is this place in,          
"or is it out?"        
It's a familiar space,          
But without the stuff.  
   
She’s within herself,  
Staring deeply  
In reflections,  
And face to face,  
As a pair of states,  
Both musing introspection.  
A split of Alice,  
she's the genesis  
Where strange existence can persist,  
Subsisting through these  
Empty spaces,  
As a spawn of double ‘is’'es,  
 
'À L’homme de Vitruve'         
She is supervenient,  
But not before her slumber loosens,      
To awaken in a mundane place,  
Removed by several distances.