Autumn fall

Inside of me, it was rotten
And depressed. 
Slipped a bit at first, then
I began my fall.

I dropped—tipped
Over the silky web, and ran
Into those brown thorn-bounded branches—as
If I had many chances
To stop and think.

After the descend, sent by my own stem, I
Journeyed a flight of swirling
Images—I have had my veins torn—
I was ripped
Away from my favourite spot
On the little green bush.

I gave up on those vessels that
Locked life
In me—
Measuring it by tunnels, one
Next to another, 
Resenting
The simple; making what was plain
Into the cracks of survival.

Then I crashed and collapsed limply. 
It was the end of autumn, and as
Chaos assailed, I
Was bereft of all
My memories. 
Only those murmurs were left
For me to 
Understand.

Dale Chou
2000-11-16