Dark Hand-Woven Leaves

The old, battered unread pages began to sparkle

(after a while of intimacy)

Like the pages of my many hearts

And I wonder why he sparkled for me

and if he sparkled for others

And the desperation of language

was overwhelming to my personality – how it erupted

in obedience to his words

As if I was his modern machine coated in blood

and refusing to let the dirty money stick to me

as I rolled in the streets of abundant nature

and others threw their wallets at me

because they could not express what they didn’t feel

any other way (any better than I)

and I was crushed by your contradictions

instead of by my own.

© Copyright Kerryn Lee Bon. 2002, all rights reserved (worldwide)