Dark Poetry Prose Poetry February 22, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

02-22-04 sunday 11:29am brick NJ

sometimes the last line is all that matters. and everything before it was just filler and rhetoric. the first line is what gets them. then the middle they just patronize. but the last line. that's what matters. the last line is the one that they'll remember.

2-22-04 9pm brick NJ sunday

i see the headlights making copies of my blinds on the ceiling. on friday. on saturday. an echo of the life that's always happening outside my window.

i wonder why we haven't been able to be friends lately. and i think maybe it's just not meant to be. can the ocean befriend the beach? all the years they've been meeting, still strangers they are. can the moon befriend the tide? all the years they've been dancing, still they stand apart.

i guess it's just me. meant to be alone. i'll miss you, but i was never needed.

and when the weekend comes and those headlight phantoms haunt my heart again. i'll think of you and how for a little while i was behind the headlights instead of watching them.