Dark Poetry Prose Poetry April 11, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

04-11-05 9:52pm monday

last night knows you so well, but tonight. just a blind date. casual sex at best. if nothing else, to spite the night before for having not called you again.

so you wait. for this night to become the last. but the waiting's never over. there's always another night prepared to judge.

the moon may stalk. and the cloud may contrive. but darkness is a sweet reward for all that daylight i've been forced to endure.

because the last thing i need is to be found again. to be seen. exposed.

the pigeon carries messages. the hawk only kills. but the vulture is to be worshipped. immune to death. unafraid. it extracts life from the loss of it.

ants will build. and crickets will croon. but the bee is to be mimicked. it makes sweet honey from bitter pollen.

cheetahs are fast. and lions cunning. but of all the animals the chimpanzee is most like man. kills simply because it can.

04-11-05 10pm monday

the hum of feeling. like a diesel engine. so loud. polluting everything near.

failing tribes. life's landscape is so resistant to the simpler ways.

i pushed the crust away from my eyes, but my vision was still blurry.

split ends in the strands of life.

all that conditioning didn't work on me.

i ran into the burning building. rescuing no one. asphixiating myself with my good intentions.

i saw the smoke and was drawn to it. the flames dancing like sunset's clouds.

i ran toward the threat because it's the only thing that's ever tempted. but i'm not a hero. i couldn't save anyone.

i only ended up killing myself again.

04-11-05 10:40pm monday

giving in. hearts melt like chocolate in microwaves. thick dark soup fill your lungs.

clutched to. and by. mammogram eyes. how infected are my breasts.

giving to life all it has to us. stalled thermometer searching for the fever in.

it was only yesterday that it was all accounted for. packed neatly away in time's packages. with hours and minutes to signify who we were then.

it's not the mouse. it's the trap that kills him.

dreams sweating us. no facts. only truth. or what you can make of it.

i leave it for them to decide. though i doubt their motives.

i've no reason to care what hey decide.

their world is much too narrow. and mine much to wide.