Dark Poetry Prose Poetry May 2, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

10pm 5-02-04 sunday

firefly thoughts create pinpoints of light in the darkness. random and spordaic like so many of life's aspects. gentle winds caress the blooming leaves. kiss them tenderly like putting a child to sleep. timid notes strike chords in my head. acoustic clones of all that i keep silent.

saturday never sleeps. and sunday never wakens. a marriage of opposites that either creates life or depletes it. depending upon how you react. depending upon their accomodations.

i still feel like a pool of ketchup that's lonely for someone to dip something into it. i still feel like a puddle of ketchup on a empty plate after all the fries have been eaten. that they squeezed too much out of me. and now all that leftover will just be wasted.

breathing seems so pointless if i can't breathe you in. and be taken. open our mouths and exchange souls through them.

how cold the warmth feels against my skin. how bright the darkness seems to eyes that have adjusted. the iris is the color. the pupil is the dark. the color is the picture. the dark is the camera. the iris is the flesh. the pupil is the heart.

i could almost teach myself to forget. self-imposed anmesia is an old old trick. i could crawl back inside my shell and slither into the yolk again. as if i've never been broken. never been scrambled. there's still time to do that, since i haven't been eaten.

it's tempting. tempting as drug and affection. cravings swell under your skin. like hunger pains. compel you to feed them.

would it be better to be alone like that. instead of stricken by, a chosen path. i still remember how it was. easy as i imagine being dead is. cause you're so much like it. trade away those highs and lows for that ubiquitous nothingness that turns you into a mannequin. mimic of a person on display in your absense.

could i give you up. of course i could. since i've never felt any ownership. only the privilege. would i miss you. of course i would. but what's strange is that i miss you even when you're here. cuz the best parts of you aren't.

10:47pm 05-02-04 sunday

meet me in the next life. if there is one. and i'll show you how well i can love.

but if no other life exists for us. just nothing after this. then life is much crueler than i ever imagined. and love is more a salesman than an advocate. much more a business than it is an emotion.

with you i feel like pancakes that are naked without your syrup. with you i resist, but still wish that we didn't.

but i couldn't give you til death. and you already have your children. i really couldn't give you anything. and i'm glad you already have.

i just want to be selfish. since i can't think now of any better way to be. i just want to forget everything. to forget that i ever lived. to sit quietly in this pale darkness and countdown to my exit.

if things were different. if circumstance allowed. i still don't believe we'd be any better off. probably worse yet. my mind tells one tale while my heart contradicts it. i don't know which to believe, if either of them.

at the end of every night i'll harbor no regrets. wish you only gladness. as each night folds itself up, i'll make love the suspect, but have no crime to accuse it of. just an array of muted victims that look out from behind these pages. like a prison camp this life has built for its feelings. naked, hungry captives held in malice. that they exist the only reason they are imprisoned.

if i could be a tree and you the leaves, then i might be happy. that you could bloom every spring and last until autumn. and we could repeat the process indefinitely. if i could be a sandwich and you the meat. if i could be anything other than what i am now. so far apart from you. so useless to you now.

i guess there's no next life for us to meet in, that this one is all we have. uncap the lid. let loose those captured fireflies. if nothing else, embrace the darkness. admit there's nothing left to give.

05-02-04 sunday 11:21pm

night closes in. fierce and arbitrary against your waning ambitions. letters breed to words. and words to sentences. but what for. what for when morning comes again.

to paste those scraps into contrived webpages. welcome mats for the whole world to wipe their feet against.

why me. why anyone. to seduce rhymes with liquor and alleve the heart of.

these poetics are not a painkiller. but an indusive. they seek what is hidden and bring it to the forefront. like an army unit swept from the backreaches to the crux of the war.

how will i ever learn to look upon you and not yearn. to take one potato chip and no more. how am i to ever remember that sweet icing and not want the cake within. on time we wait to appease. unto to time we pray to lead these lives away from temptation.

i don't know though, that i wish to forget. i mean, if i must forget, shouldn't i just forget everything. i cannot look upon you and not remember. i cannot convince myself that candy is poison. even if it is. even if. i'd take that sweetness no matter the consqeuence.

time. time does promise, but has yet to deliver. i struggle in awkward acceptance. life has never been fair. still it's never been as unjust as this.