Dark Poetry Prose Poetry July 29, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

07-29-05 friday 10:36pm

true to nothing except the foghorn in your head. that sounds as ships are approaching. pushes them away. back toward the deep again.

those moments tend to come so steathily. it's hard to notice them. those moments wear soft shoes, but it's squeaky stairs that they climb.

creaking doors with broken locks whose knobs they grasp.

only a white page upon the darkness. quivering to be written upon. margins useless to contain the geiser they've affected.

see it now. as you never could then. the grimace longing eyes will dare when no one's looking. empty as a page without an author, yet still bathing in the ink. almost as though what is written. what is read. doesn't matter. only just that something is said.