You turn the pages
to rape the printed landscape
of senses and voices
Torn from the parchment and chained up
behind black marbles.
Put those eyes away,
shut that flesh around your tears
Their narcotic varnish could leak
and skin my hands raw
like a dead blade.
AUTHOR BIO: Anna Ryan-Punch is a Melbourne poet and critic. Her published poetry includes work in Overland, Antipodes, The Age, Quadrant, Westerly, and Island. She also blogs at annaryanpunch.blogspot.com