Dark Poetry Prose Poetry February 21, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

2-21-03 friday 8:45pm Brick NJ

if it's over i wish it would be. broken verses breach those quiet places i try to keep. if i thought that i knew you i take it all back. if i claimed i knew me. i was presuming too much. purple skies in winter seem out of place. as the rain sinks deep into the surface. the moisture overwhelms the the fabric of our lives. these free nights offer ease, but with too many thoughts attached. sometimes i wish i never had. though i hold the memory like a teddy bear. still there are times when i wish it was all just a nightmare. and upon waking i could laugh.

if i go there again i don't know that i could return. it calls to me like a dream ensuing. i close my eyes and everything is beautiful my friend. if i go back i don't think that i can leave. so i stand on the verge. half of me leaning into the wind while the other half protests. half of me hating everything while the other half tallies the moments we have left.

what if? what if tomorrow told you that she had no more tokens? what if? what if life threatened to take away her gifts? where would you go? what might you want? i don't know what it could be. i just know that it wouldn't be me. i just know that if tomorrow did decide to call your bluff it wouldn't be me that you'd choose to love. i know who am i though i often wish i didn't. it's not strange what we've become. since it's what we've always been. it's not surprising that you keep it close. i know i'm not the one you need to know.

2-21-03 friday 9:30pm brick NJ

waiting for the sun to set -
caught in the afternoon
life pretends;
waiting for the sun to set -
it lingers on the horizon
like a dark storm cloud
picking at the ocean's breath;

seeing the darkness move
across the surface
like the songs that
blanket my heart;
watching the winter breathe
its death into my skin,
waiting for it like
a child at christmas,
waiting for it for as
long as i can stand;

you don't have to call,
and i just can't;
you needn't be anything
else than what you are,
the love i take like an addict,
the love i abuse hoping
someday i'll od.

old songs new again,
like some long forgotten dream
you suddenly remember,
then turn your heart toward
those grey places where
everything is just how you choose,
take comfort in the possibility
that we can decide.

if a verse is just a verse,
and a rhyme just my lie,
then hold your breath until
you can really breathe again,
forget everything you've said
until you can really believe what it meant;

and if it comes to this,
if it ends the same as it alway has,
the uncertainty, that friend
smothered in the frailties love depends;
if it happens over and over agian
for all the days this life must have,
at least tell me when,
at least tell me when
you can't do it again.

listen then, listen when
every song has been abadoned,
listen then, when i take this
ring off from round my wrist
and am convinced again that
it didn't mean anything,
listen then, for the first time,
as if your heart is suddenly able
to hear what i'm saying,
as if all the days which preceded these
had every intention of leading
up to something better;
even if they didn't really;

even if they didn't,
let us just pretend
for the moment
that they did.