Dark Poetry Prose Poetry March 27, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

03-27-05 sunday 8:46pm

stories. that's all we are. sentences. paragraphs and footnotes in other peoples' lives. that when assembled become the library book with our name on it. they can borrow us, but never own.

and memory. that card in that slot at the back. with all the names and dates on it. of who has read us and when.

stories. as passive as they are potent. inanimate strings of language whose only endeavour is to animate those they encounter when the cover is pried open.

full of hopeful beginnings. and desperate ends. and all that fatty meat that always situates itself between those common slices of bread.

stories. maybe more. maybe less. dangling particples of humanity at the backsides of run on sentences. stories. read of. by. and with. telling and asking silently. as strangers turn the pages. and our parchment absorbs their fingerprints.

always taking with us as much as we've given.

stories. checking out. checking in.

03-27-05 sunday 10:12pm

where there's evil there must be good to show us the difference. and vice versa. where there's good we depend upon evil to teach us just what exactly goodness is.

we know that we are alive because we remember the dead. pitying them as we do form our pulpits on shaky platforms of god, religion and ethics.

where there's happiness, there has to be sorrow. it's a given. how are we ever to know what we cherish without knowing all the things we wish had never happened to us.

opposites. they don't atract. they just tend to make us realize what it is we that we want to have.