In the elegant web of her creation,
she curls into herself.
Hiding behind Clara Bow –
clothed in leopard print –
there is no order here.
A dervish cyclone of fear and regret
discharges convention leaving
a social expatriate tangled and broken.
Indecision and inability torment equally.
Action and inaction plunder her soul.
Should she stay?
Should she go?
Will he call or with distant attention
will he pass by?
Confidence and contrition
fall from her lips like roses and reptiles –
bewildering the world with paradox.
December 28, 2005
WandeRoseD 