Dark Poetry Prose Poetry March 3, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

03-03-05 thursday 9:52pm

twist. pop. carbonated hearts. discrentionary memories gather in a boardroom of tears.

trumpet thoughts. bass drum moments. the rhythm. the riff. how to make them sync. how to pull a song out of all that chaos.

put yourself to the keyboard. and listen. how do you hear yourself now that those sounds are outside your head. put your life to the cutting board and slice. how raw are those onions? how red are your eyes?

peel the skin away. there are still so many layers to deal with. all those pieces. what are you going to do with them?

03-03-05 10:25pm thursday

presbyterian hearts. secular lives. never sure just who to worship. or why.

encode me. with greater than and less than signs. make me readable. it's what i've wanted all my life.

open the tag. fill it in. then close it. so neatly marginalizing all its contents.

give me matching scroll bars. give me alt image tags. little messages that pop up as they look over. to tell them just what they're missing as.

godless lives. pious hearts. one seeks exoneration. release. while the other looks for salvation in fairy tales and charming princes.

my life is a parenthesis. my heart is a semi-colon. half finsihed thoughts that meander off into other locations.

i'm parenthetical. a thought within a thought. lost between the beginning of the sentence and the end. there inside it, but never a part of.

03-03-05 10:49pm thursday

you're opportune. as much as ever. thread in the eye of the needle. begging to be sewn again.

stitch me up. make these pieces whole.

i'm swallowing. open mouth asking for. i've got my tongue out and my lips peeled back waiting on that little.

it don't change. it's the same damn ejaculation everytime. you spit in my face and i close my eyes. stick my tongue out and hope the morning won't be that honest.

i don't got no reason to, but it keeps asking still. i don't wanna, but i give in. that heartfelt democrcacy. the votes are in. count me. my numbers are small, but my influence is burgeoning.

don't you ever wake up from yourself and wonder what it is you feel. if anything, don't you ever stop to count the real people in your life and wonder why they're disappearing.

i can't take that facade. i can't face that stoic face again. i find myself longing for the person i once knew. but i guess that's untrue. where is he now? where was he then?

there's not much that i've imagined that ever came to be. you're among them.

there's so much i've lived that has never answered back. you're not the first person. you won't be the last.