Dark Poetry Prose Poetry March 9, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

8:20am 03-09-04 tuesday brick NJ

transitory mornings - they wake you up quietly with the finish of a dream and the unveiling of reality.

transitory mornings - shifting softened hearts to hard again. coaxing open minds back into their boxes.

in transit with them i go from sleeping peacefully to sleep interrupted.

transitory mornings - in transit i am taken by them from tranquil rest to some other sleep which lacks.

transitory hearts - take morning in slow sips. steadily caffinating their blood until the dead appear as alive again.

8:03pm 03-09-04 tuesday brick NJ

i'm only just born. first few swallows greet my throat in smoothing eddies of transposition. turning songs to music. and darkness to habit.

i'm only just being. a leaf on a tree. a blade of grass in a field of millions. from the seed came this. from earth and wind and fire life decided it would exist. and now it does. now it does, but i'm still waiting for it to live.

the night only just gave me my first kiss. but i raped her while she was still sleeping. paralyzed by daylight. i took her before she had the power to restrain me. and now her open thighs insist the blood that's on my hands belongs to them.

i've only just been buried. put to rest. eulogized by the silence. mourned by solitude. unmissed. unregretted. a life lived too briefly to have an impact in its exit.

there's only the green clouds that rain their moisture down upon my soil. fertilize my poetics. nourish my sadness. green clouds that rain down solace into my mouth. drench my tongue in a flood of i can let it go another night. bathe my mind in an ocean of i don't care why.

i''ve only just been born. still need to scream. to grab that first breath. but instead i lay silent and swathed in menstrual fluids. unable to cry. i've only just been born again, but already i am dying.

8:34pm 03-09-04 tuesday brick NJ

i see you in many ways. as both beautiful and ugly. as both victim and criminal. i see you in every way. as human and as immortal. as heart and soul and flesh. and all the tired traditions that go with them.

i see myself as well. from all angles. as liar. as friend. savior and satan. heaven and hell.

i see with words, not eyes. see in darkness better than in light.

see romance and usage. love and all her excuses. and time doing its best to show us how to live. and eager lives struggling to decide which deserves it more, the heart or the flesh.

perhaps neither of them.

9:11pm 03-09-04 tuesday brick NJ

i don't have faith in anyone. everyone abandons me eventually. they say they're still there. but i see no evidence of. they say they're still there, but i hold no such expecatations.

and up to five i can't remember much of anything. and up to five i was a happy child. then suddenly eating too much. brooding. a disease i guess. but from what origin.

and twenty four years later, still unaware of how. how that became this. how one vice flourished into the next.

can't believe them when they say. i'm there. there's no one here except myself. these agitated pages. there's no one here except myself and these revelations unkind. that reveal nothing other than i still don't know what it is that i'm forgetting.

a crib. white pajamas printed. winter perhaps. long sleeves. long pants. and blood from where. a nightmare or something real.

a crib. white pajamas with a print i can't recall. a house we hardly lived at. and blood on the sheets. where it came from still a mystery. how it got there i don't know.

a blank space in my memory. 4 years. maybe more. just hints at. a bottle. a couch cushion. a baby sitter whose face i can't remember. a kitchen. a bottle wanted. ironic how now i have all the bottles i could ever want.

voids in memory leave too much room for speculation. for specualting on things perhaps i am better off for not remembering. i couldn't say. i don't recall. i just look at the pictures i draw and wonder. i just see the the abrupt transition from happy to sad. and stunned, ask myself how it happened.

essays in elementary school on ice cream and troubles. indulging them away. now ice cream has become beer, but they're really just the same. and how four was so different from five. skinny smiling little girl became fat frowning child. and i don't know why. or if i do, i'm not willing to remember yet. and even if i should. what then?

9:36pm 03-09-04 tuesday brick NJ

i'm playing out my misery in an open forum. unclothing my catharsis to the world. will someone offer an insight. or will all those visitors just steathily pass through my life.

i'm wearing my pain like a a crown and showing it off to strangers and to friends. and they must know so much about me that even i can't. because i can write the words. and i can read them. but i don't understand.

anonymous to some. obvious to others. i'm taking years to slit my wrists and i'm letting the world watch it. i'm letting the blood flow for awhile, but then it congeals. staves off dying. i'm opening the vein, but not quite right. because it spills out in waves, but then it stops suddenly. and as close to death as i feel, i'm still just a groupie he didn't have the time to take.

i'm drawing out my face in yellow words on black backgrounds in a forum where all lives are linked, but know not how. i'm painting my self-portrait in the pigments of poetic prose. not asking them, but still hoping that someone knows.

and everyday bleeds into the next. a fortess of pages lies humbly as testament. those who see. those who don't. they pierce my skin without even knowing. they may draw parallel. they might juxtapose. however they may enter, their exit still leaves a gaping hole.

i've given myself up to the world that long ago gave up on me. i've laid this rotted carcass into a grave made of hyperlinks and stylesheets. they noted the grave. they marked their dead. but they never saw the life that was before they came.