This woman walks down the road
(With a blank face of despair)
Towards me
(That can only be painted on by failure)
Following a dog
(And erased at night time)
That was her only friend
(When, maybe, she dreams -)
That shits at my gate,
(And the face, the shell)
From a house
(Cracks open to release)
That’s cold
(A spirit)
And always shut up
(And a human)
And this woman
(In all its warmth)
Never says a word
(Ready to make friends)
But looks down
(And travel this world)
Averting her gaze from me
(And this woman)
In case I notice
(Dare not look)
And try to be friends.
(In case I make friends).
Nov.2001
The public and private face of a woman.
Have two people taking it in turns to read it, one reading the plain text, one reading the text in brackets.
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