Dark Poetry Prose Poetry January 17, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

01-17-05 monday 10:19pm

you move it. it moves you. carousel lives spin on their axles.

if i was a car, i'd still be a bicycle. no motor. driven by the will to pedal.

if i was a person, i'd still be a poet. most words unspoken.

you prove it and you're sorry you did. there's little satisfaction in being right. something's got to be wrong if.

you get new things every now and then. to clear away the dirt. the clutter. you can buy new things. but you're always stuck with that same old person. yourself.

you can move it around the room. change the colors of. but those four walls are still unaltered. devious reflection of the life they house.

i write too much. i know this. and speak too little. but words are silent to me. to be read. not heard. to be understood, not screamed.

you try to move it. it moves you. you assemble. push. pull. eventually it finds its place. like everything once new, it grows old. you still see it there, but not like you used to.