Dark Poetry Prose Poetry July 11, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

7-11-03 friday 8:44pm brick NJ

next time won't be different. the last time won't forget. cower in your impasse configuration. as if no one can win. but you know that they already did.

the nights taste smooth like beer with a cum chaser. vulgar yes, but not without good reason. the fawning darkness imbues the world with a subtle compensation. as if the leaves could fall right now and no one would wonder why they did. as if the earth could stop spinning and no one would notice.

off again to bigger and better destinations. i wish you a safe journey and happy findings.

it's not the heat. it's the humidity. that's what they say. or maybe it's just the way that stagnant summer air tends to leave you breathless. so taxing on the body. so sticky on the flesh. all those chances cresting and breaking like angry waves. beating the sand that has failed them yet again.

the ocean seems to always be trying to leave itself. to find its feet and walk again. as if it once did. tugging on the shore, but always losing its grip. trying to pull away, but constantly drawn back into it. the waves seems to reach out and grab at the earth. asking it to pull it in, help it to be free itself from its own grip. a timeless struggle to be more than circumstance allows. not just the ocean, but the waves in all of us. repeatedly trying to hang on to that something we can touch, but never hold.

wrong as wrong has ever been. righter still than. moonlit darkness expands like a uterus about to break. and give birth to some new life in all of us. some unmapped territory where love still prospers and hope still takes.

i wanted to remember myself. to write again from the center of a self that is divided. conflicted like the stars at night. straining against darkness much larger than. but multiply their strength by a million and they succeed in the impossible. but i am just one. i can't charm the sun. can't sequster the darkness. just sit here searching again for that safe place i've forgotten.

7-11-03 friday 10:48pm brick NJ

dying. not really. just wishing. moon asking the sky why. why again. why tonight. when the sunset decides it really is.

old enough. lives some and now ready for the next. poetry deep and sad left them wondering how. why. as if. relegated to common tasks. delegated to breatheing though i'd rather not.

what i haven't got folds itself up neatly and lays down in the drawers i've opened for them.

dying. almost. not quite and then they wake me from my slumber as if these eyes ever saw beyond the scope of things much too tired for anyone else to ever need.

what is wanted? what is being? why lived when you can die again? why live when it's lying. holding hard to the sun dawning as if sunrise can pull you higher than your current perspective. as if another cigarette could coax the cancer faster yet.

dying, but when. not soon enough. never is. not reason enough to loop the knot and swing. vacuum lives suck me in. pull the dust away from unseen pasages. braid the words like you do your hair. twisting and intwining reason and denial.

where do they go. and if they should retrun what will i say. how will i react when they admit that i was just a waystation. now they're gassed up again and ready to drive for something better.

dying. not really. i only wish. the keys begging questions strokes cannot give. it's quiet and lonely. like the knife without a cut. the blade without the bleeding. it drew, but it didn't see. it found the vein. it just didn't stop cutting long enough to taste. all that has been. what remains.