Dark Poetry Prose Poetry July 10, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

07-10-05 sunday 10pm

yellow eye in the back of my head. looking down at the blue beneath.

turgent spoils accumulate at the base of the spine. ragged pages. a treasure trove of grief so pompous it can only be considered narcissism.

moments curl around the finger that pulls on them. they straighten as the weight of my hand pulls on. then quickly recoil again. constricting about the base of their victim.

not to lose. nor to win. just letting be. sighs in suspended animation. cloud the space between sound and language.

to be heard is not enough. you must understand.

to have loved them. that is if i ever did. wasn't enough either. wasn't even the beginning.

to love her and anyone. would require giving in. and letting go. trusting as it were in anything besides the words i toil. the thoughts i dispense.

open structure at the shallow of my lips. the echoes carry down the mountainside as the river swims. through the valley. across the chest. pooling in a chasm under the arc of the breast. stilling there to gather itself. and then moving on through the chamber of the haunted ghosts.

everything before slips between the cracks in my skin. lost raindrops forgotten by the wind.

everything after hangs above my head. icicles on the rooftops piercing my skull drip by drip.

and closing the lids all goes blank. a novel yet to be written. counting the breaths. chasing the promise of peace. it comes in spurts. making colors appear. and shapes incline. back and forth. to and fro. the fractured rocking horse continues to ride.

07-10-05 sunday 11pm

as if i am real. palpable. taste me. the ginger on your tongue. it limps onward in its pursuit of something more salient.

as how one life can matter anymore than one song does. false spectrum evaporates into the sun.

light not creasing. colors undone.

movement remembers, but doesn't.

it fades. like waves do back to the ocean from whence they came. leaving small impressions, but nothing lasting. shuffling the grains of sand. though they still look the same from this distance.

and closer inspection reveals it doesn't matter where they lay.

i am quiet. one breathe without an exit. i am nothing. sleep without a dream. no proof that you ever did. close those eyes. escape.

feather to write with. stolen from flight. drowning in the ink. stained. yet still remembering. clean skies. open wings.

there is nothing now. no pain. no wanting. just grass as it cultivates those weeds. growing for the light. dying in its grip. reaching for the sun. parched because of it. once green. now brown.

roots tugging on the soil below them. digging for a reason to exist. but it's not down there. and it isn't above them.

crowining silence with a fetid grin. alive as you want me to be. dead as i've always been.