Dark Poetry Prose Poetry April 24, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

04-24-05 sunday 9:50pm

outside dancing through the glass. shadow and light tangoing as the audience looks on with gasps.

there's just a rose between her lips. all thorns pointing toward. there's no blood to be spilled tonight. nothing to taste that we already haven't.

i know who you are. to yourself. to me. penguin in the desert.

and who i am. riser on the stairway to your happiness.

yesterday. i don't summon it. but it tugs on me. like a child with so many questions.

and i'd like to, but i can't answer them.

04-24-05 10pm sunday

what is alive? how do you know you are?

do you feel it in the singe of desire on your lips? or the cuddly stuffed animal of love you clutch before falling asleep to dream of when your velveteen rabbit will become real.

is it found in the sweaty thrust of sex. as orgasm veils your pain. or does it spill over. part the curtain. and your tears break through the moans. to disappoint them.

what is dead. is it buried. or just ready to be.

and buried under what? only soil. or are there options.

what is alive?

the fetch of the sun as it urges you to leave your chair and venture outside. coagulate with the world and hope the scab holds.

the memory of. how it felt when. you thought you were. alive, as it were. your heart beating louder than the music. louder than their breath in your ear as they pushed.

into. and beyond.

it all seemed so very real.

then suddenly it was gone.