Dark Poetry Prose Poetry January 12, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

1-12-05 wednesday 9:50pm

in the attic of your heart you crouch. balancing on the beams. trying to install some lighting for the rooms beneath.

but it's hard to balance on those narrow rafters while struggling with screws, and fixtures and wiring.

should've put something more solid down across them. but i really didn't have anything that sturdy to spare.

so i slipped and i fell through the ceiling. exposing everything below to that cold attic air. and still no light. and now the drywall to repair.

don't you feel how dark it is in there.

01-12-05 wednesday 10pm

how old are you now?

slack-jawed memories gawk at the life you've assembled. so precariously. like a house of cards.

how does it feel?

sewing time in stitches like thread in the eye of a needle.

make it fit. what else can you do.

let the hours be your compass. and the years be your savior.

there's no one else to pray to.

and i don't really understand the reasons people will hold. they run with those reasons like scissors in their hands. and then wonder at their wounds.

life is a fascination at best. a cruel series of ironies to be laughed over in the end.

what you love. it never has any real reason to love you. other than selfishness. what you need. only because you feel needed, empowered by it.

life is a broken bridge. cross it how you can. swim. jump. swing on vines.

it doesn't matter how you get there, so long as you get to the other side.