Dark Poetry Prose Poetry January 20, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

01-20-04 tuesday 9:20pm brick NJ

so maybe there's nothing left to write about. just the same tired moon always staring down. like dreaming, only less intense. life limps forward on its good leg. the colors are faded. and the ink has begun to crack. the pages have yellowed and how much these attempts do lack.

i feel myself. here in this moment, but it is sallow and cold. like the afterbirth. putrid and useless. umbilical metaphors have been severed. it's time to breathe on your own. feed on your own. suckle the loneliness. hunger is greater than your will to resist.

push the words together. awkward lovers. beg them to breed, but they're impotent. infertile and asking to die again.

watch them suffer. their release your only power. listen to them beg. still you deny them. if you must suffer they must as well. huddled together in cold absolution like prayers without a savior. shivering naked in the darkness like jews in the gas chamber. waiting to die and yet terrified of it.

so maybe there's nothing left to clutch with this poetic fist. perhaps i've lived too much already and would choose not to remember anything of it if that choice was mine. maybe, but still it goes on. like life without a count. like graves without a name. anonymous and covered in dead flower petals. dried tears of mourners who've long since finished their grieving.

the end is so much more than finality. the crux of everything. the goodbye echos deep the beginnings hearts did sing. rhythms that reverberate for so long after anyone is left listening.

01-20-04 tuesday 10pm brick NJ

i'm writing why? because i can. because so many nights pass without a eulogy to remember them. buried like hobos in a pile of bones and regret. mountains of graves that no one will visit. i'm asking because the answers demand. we should get to know them. even if they won't be our friends. we ougth to know them. even if they turn out out to be our enemies. all the more reason.

as snakes do hiss so must acceptance. slow release of air from the tires that once carried us. as cobras must bite. so does life then. feral and angry and afraid of our very presemce.

it's not that the words are reluctant. it's my heart. so heavy with this emptiness. it's as if everything that was has been a message on an answering machine. a real voice, but a faded sentiment. a distant friend. something to remember, but nothing to hold when.

it's not that there isn't reason, but that it's gotten so hard to see it. it's as if life has become an email. filled with words, but lacking presense. as beautiful of an image that it can depict, there's nothing to grasp. no face. no voice to give to it. it's as empty as all the nights that have waited for it. stark as the stars that have watched those lonely wishes fall unanswered. it's all we are now. fractured text and viral attachments lost in a din of virtual happiness.