Dark Poetry Prose Poetry July 8, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

07-08-05 friday 10pm

they write of. and are written. torpedoes in the gullet engage their victims. the war that cannot be won.

too close. memory chambers devoid of oxygen. too far. white snow turning black under the wheels of speeding cars.

i can't breathe. and i can't melt. so what's left for me to do. suffocate as i am turned black. stay on the shoulder while the road goes on without me.

they tell of. and are told by. the changes come in stutters. shy thunder that the sky spits out. and i just wonder. wonder when the flood will arrive.

as it hangs there in air between my persona and my person. shadow camouflaging the gap betweeen this step and the next one.

let's not say that we tried when most of all we know this to be untrue. instead, let's just say that we were too afraid. and lay down beside our fear. let it comfort us like nothing else can.

i'm not alive. don't want to be. and death takes no prisoners.

i'm not the world. just a bit of spit caught in its teeth. if it grins. if it bares them. i might show. but that doesn't mean. i'm sure to disappear again behind those feral lips.

it's not the taste you have to worry about. it's the hunger you feel because of it.