Dark Poetry Prose Poetry May 31, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

05-31-05 tuesday 9:44pm

whether in the seige or the drought. either way you're overwhelmed. be it by abundance or by void. lurking still with the feeble scent of memory clung to the shadows' breath.

in grim denial you trace the outlines that indicate the routes taken and the ones untold. because from the ashes exudes the smoke. but not without the fire as its host.

but once and then so much silence ensued. yet still the sound resonates. trapped forever within these thickest walls of my discontent.

bargains once made with shocking bravado. bought me a chance to touch what i never thought could be. and now with pockets empty i lay calmly in the happiness i thieved. as day by day, like dead skin, it melts away.

05-31-05 tuesday 10:24pm

sardonic you say? sure. but not at all without its merits. cynical. well, of course. otherwise stupid.

i feel the time move. literally. as my blood rises and descends the network of my extremities.

when it moves slothfully i am quiet. the shadow on your window sill.

when it runs quickly i am less than temperate. the dark sky waiting on the thunder in all its ominous gloom.

it's almost as if sometimes the words pretend. that they don't know me. that we've never been intimate.

we grow tired of eachother and begin to imagine life apart. experimenting with other forms of satisfaction. building houses out of cardboard hearts.

til the wolf arrives to blow them over.

isn't it so fortunate that for every whimsy we might entertain there's a monster lurking to leap from the shadows and prove its impotence. aren't we so blessed in that way.

irrevelant. in the most decadent of ways. fraught with reasons to rip up the page and burn tthe book.

why do i write in ink when really all i've ever wanted is to be able to erase.

why do i turn to the screen and allow it to wrench these tumors from me when all i really wanted is for them to be malignant.

05-31-05 tuesday 11pm

turning toward. counterclockwise life revolves. as it tunnels back for.

that gentle grin. so alike a purring cat right after it's eaten.

the easy way you'd knead the anger into tears. how you could see the sculpture hidden in the faulty exterior.

you'd always find it there. turning champion to coward. turning poet into child.

given to my sympathies i'd pity you, but never tell. given to my indulgences i'd forget you, but you wouldn't do it well.

it was just what it was supposed to be. flare of life that burned too quickly in its effort to rescue us.