Dark Poetry Prose Poetry May 15, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

05-15-04 saturday 9:44pm

red and moist in my head. memory's injured soldiers fight on vigilant. red and damp between my thighs. like first times. broken skins. some essential element of youth leaking out. colorful tears of the life inside.

assembling complex structures with tiny bolts. ratcheting your anger into the threads of poetry.

i watched through the sliding glass doors like it was a movie on tv. weekend lives across the grass. lives happening so modestly. childrens' wet summer slides. steaks barbequing. a man building his family's massive patio awning. his wife eagerly watching.

i watched closer than i've ever watched any movie or tv show. i watched life reveling in simple things. like cool water on hot days. and decorative adornments for their homes. two children. a boy and a girl. afternoon waned into evening and he still wasn't finished. but just like how he fell off his step ladder and promptly got up again. if one saturday wasn't enough, i'm sure on sunday he'll be back again. trying. determined to give his family what he promised them.

05-15-04 saturday 10:11pm

so i try to write with a purpose, but am not finding one. or at least spotlight something that seldom is.

flannel ribbons round my wrist. for no particular reason other than to feel a soft ring against my skin. that it is holding me. and that i am filling it. like long conversations that allude to futures they'll never uphold. and the lonely people who have them. clinging to a chance that died so long ago.

silver and gold. in plush pockets of the mind. metal and gemstones dormant in soft shadows of time's many folds. you see them in your head. remembering how they looked circling your flesh. like little echoes of hope that did their best, but failed again.

if i feel almost nothing. like i do now. just vague recollections of days previous. i wonder does emotion come from memory more than from the present. i wonder just how much yesterday bleeds into tomorrow. are we the sound. or just echos of her footsteps.

and they're watching even when they're not here. these pages send them documentaries on, though they missed the events. they're watching cuz i let them. all poet's exhibitionists in their humble method. feels as naked as i always do. always feeling like this. i'd prefer somone to notice. if i'm naked anyway. i prefer it to have a purpose. or at least a thrill.

that friend that always forgives. that rhythm so fluid. tossing heartbeats into empty fountains. always casting wishes. but knowing no one hears them.

like so many nights that always knew, but wouldn't admit. ribbons of tears around ungiven gifts. escapes you've plannned a million times, but still haven't met.

11pm 05-15-04 saturday

watching life like tv. turning days like pedals. rubber tubes of air all that sits between your speed and your crashing. stop the ringing with a hello. not knowing. never knowing if they'll know. always hoping that they will. but afraid of if they do. secrets kept like nightmares dreamt. black images fade to grey and then.

i'm neither your yesterday nor your tomorrow. i'm nothing more than a gamepiece you played. roulette love. slot machine sex. blackjack friends.

i'm neither your want nor your desire. i'm nothing more than a poker chip in your last bet. i couldn't control your wager. had no power to win or lose. i just lay in the center. up for grabs. waiting on the show of hands.

i'm not your colleague. not your contract. not your friend. i was just a willing participant in the accident. how my heart collided with yours. how you walked away without a scratch while i lay there waiting on the ambulance.

i remember little. love even less. how time does play her foul deceptions. takes things once whole and dissembles them bit by bit.

death is all that i have left to love. that one loyal companion. and all those people that try to separate us. they may or may not make their efforts. they might make an impact, but love needs eternity. and only death can offer that.