Dark Poetry Prose Poetry June 12, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

6-12-04 saturday 6:14am

maybe the best memories in life come from mistakes. or at least what we thought were. maybe with digital cameras you miss out on all those crappy pictures you later might've loved. maybe it's a good thing life doesn't let us erase.

maybe i underestimate people. both others and myself. maybe i spend so much time trying to avoid being disappointed that i miss out on everything else.

sometimes i go too far never thinking about how i'll get back. and maybe that's a good thing. that otherwise i might never know just how great a distance i can last.

6:40am 6-12-04 saturday

last night took some pictures and left them in my head. still images from the past that seem to move as i look upon them. last night never wanted. only tried to give. but like deaf men who write music, their greatest love so close and yet they cannot ever touch it.

every day. every night. they never ask. only wait. whistling humble psalms in my head as i vainly mark their resonance deaf to my own songs, but longing for someone else to hear them.

9:16pm 6-12-04 saturday

life itself is entropy. in its strictest sense. from that very first breath deteriorating. entropy is such an elegant way of saying something, perhaps even all is being lost. love, hope, information. tissue and bone in a tedious decay.

i watch movies. watch them like most people would live. put myself into the plotline and imagine so very vivid. i watch movies and let myself become those fictional characters. extracting emotions and affection from. i watch, but i don't see. i feel it. when in need any source is good enough.

entropy. such an eloquent word for such an ugly fate. it's both science and emotion how life evaporates. not just us. but every atom and smaller yet. from the tiniest quark to the largest galaxy. we're all the same in the end. strings of photons repelling and attracting. expanding and contracting until there's nothing left.

only that darkness which began. only that energy that demands. we skulk through these dormant skins imaginging we have choices. imagining there are gods to give us them. but we're nothing more than a gathering of molecules. no better than the chair upon which. we're both the folly and the triumph of various circumstances.

6-12-04 saturday 9:41pm

holding death like a premature infant. so needing breath. lungs weak. to make it breathe. to make it breathe again on its own. to hear the whistle of its chest expanding. to watch it walk on its own.

holding her close and tight when they don't expect. no frowns. no tears to identify. no place for weeping in such sparse nights.

alone is not such a threat. all are in their separate mazes. speaking through the walls in knocking codes. hunting an exit they don't really want.

it's just age i guess. pushing its straw deeper into the ice in my empty cup. it's just life i suppose. thirsting for the bverage it's long since drunk up.

i think life is a lot like bottle caps. the leftovers of how your thirst was quenched. you can throw them away or you can collect them. you can let them be garbage or you can retain what all those drinks have left you with. and build something. just like poets with words construct. you can take that something so wasted and create something new from.

it'll never be an easy thing to look upon. to face the erection of your vices. but i'm too much a poet to ever ignore them. i'm too much in love with my pain to ever destroy the evidence of. it is an art, just hurting this much. not neccessarily a marriage of choice. but rather a marriage of convenience.

6-12-04 saturday 9:52pm

i don't know that i ever really wanted to, but maybe i must have because i know how hard i tried. to find a sense in. to reason away what fears i've lived with.

thought so long. so hard for anything else to want. just never could come up with

measured alone against all other options. to find anything else to trust. but the weights always failed me. nothing ever balanced.

without a careful metaphor. without an ample rhyme. i just wonder what i've learned. what it has taught me. if at all i've gained from the hurt.

what to take away with me now as dusty paths do encourage tread. you return to what you always had. little as i understand it, still i can see that's all that anyone has. you go back to what you've always had. while reluctantly i greet the aftermath.

11pm 6-12-04 saturday

it's not their happiness. it's always your own. love. children. they're selfish pursuits. is there any other kind. i don't know.

snowlflakes wanting the ground to be cold enough. so that they'll stay. summer licking the sunset. just because it longs to be hotter yet.

we love because it feels good. we make friends because it staves off loneliness.

nothing we've ever done since the moment we were born was better than selfish. and never will be.

we raise children because they love us without question. it makes us so sure that someone always will. long after marraiges have decayed they'll still be people who cherish.

in human hearts there exists no such thing as unselfish love. only need. only what it makes of us.

and i don't want to tbe human. not like this. i don't want to live. not with all these conditions.

i've been tempted, but it doesn't last. always shows itself not too long after. if human is this then i am not. if human are these feelings i renounce them. i am not bettter. but i choose not to submit.

let it die. die like a star drowning in the black drenched heavens. carrying all kinds of selfish wishes to gods that don't listen. even religions. even that is such an egotisitcal approach to a world that is far beyond the whips we can crack. always needing. unable to bear a life without a reward. without an image of ourselves at the core.

i'll never be happy because i can't believe in such frivilous things. i'll never know what it is to be an ordinary person. becuase i can't send my prayers to invisible beings. can't ever trust in the loves of people.

i might be broken, but i never did lose sight of what i'd always believed in. the bitter absense of anything worth loving. i may be lonely but i have myself and i know in truth that's all anyone ever has. i'll not die bitter. i'll die when i do laughing at.