Dark Poetry Prose Poetry June 26, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

6-26-04 saturday 11:26am

when i wake up. not really, but. on mornings when there's nothing i have to do. i think. and read back. and remember when. not to miss it. but just to revel in the idea that it actually happened.

that no matter how dark it may become. there was a time when like icarus i almost touched the sun.

06-26-04 saturday 8:43pm

his steel shoulder to the shadows. refusal. doubt, in a rage her eyes exploded. black orbs bursting bright red. his iron arms melted. her frail limbs exposed again.

the shadows know what no one else does. secrets kept so deep that even their owners don't know them.

steel shoulder to the shadows. iron eyes to the sun. in a rage her eyes exploded. a geiser of tears. a flood of love.

the shadows know all their secrets. even the ones they can't admit to themselves. the shadows are the single silent witness to the rage of steel. and the flower's blood.

6-26-04 saturday 8:51pm

my life is a waiting room. and i have an appointment with death. these words are a surgeon. and my heart is the patient.

got to cut out these tumors. don't care whether i live or die. just have to get rid of them.

my life is a waiting room. and i feel that i've been very patient. i shouldn't have to wait any longer. death ought to keep our appointment.

6-26-04 saturday 9:59pm

howling. thoughts in my head moaning like lonesome winds. carrying the remnants of all the people and places i've ever been. the breath of yesterday coupled with the sigh of tomorrow. and as they do combine a new rhythm grows.

i'm a hook without bait. a magician without a levitate. i remember now what this is. i remember this place. this nightmare from which i cannot wake.

6-26-04 saturday 10:41pm

concrete skin. so hard and dense. yet it accepts the moisture. and is cracked from within.

open as the belly of the night when it's giving birth to all these cessarian lives. bloody dreams coming forth like newborn infants expelling their first screams.

shall we uncover the tomb. expose all that history. the mummies and skeletons all exhumed. with all that dust and dirt and shadows that they were buried in. all those scraps of life that followed the dead.

eyes without irises. all pupils. a stare and a grin that rode like the four horsemen across my sky.

was always lost, but this is different. was always broken. but never quite so many pieces.

6-26-04 saturday 11:20pm

yes, it's night again. the kind of night that whets these pages. sharp like knives. and just as serrated.

yea, it's me again. pajama scoundrel. phone wire phantom.

lungs will pause once in a while. to take a rest from all those breaths. love will paint the portrait and life will frame it. but it's time. time that changes the colors. either makes them richer or esle washes them out. these lives may be the canvas, but reality is the artist. not victims. just receptacles. not lies. only words mispent.

yes, i tried. wrongly still. to be everything i never could. to you. to myself. to all those other things. yes, i sent those wishes away to stars that inevtiably would deny them. and though, i knew all along what the outcome woudl be, i just had to ask. just had to be certain that.

yes, maybe it was always a joke without a punchline. a story lacking a climax. but like so many parts of life, it tried. it meant to. just wasn't up to the task.

i miss you so much now. cause you pretend you're still here, but i know that you're not. i miss you so much now. not because you're gone, but because you've left.