Dark Poetry Prose Poetry August 5, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

08-05-04 thursday 8:14am

how then is it. now like open wounds. all the colors of your weakness tumbling down. waterfalls of knowness. how then is it, what was inside now is out. like waterfalls over the barricades in your head. and down. down. staining your flesh as it makes its journey toward the bottom. into that fury of collision and decent.

cut away the sun from early morning and dip your thoughts into those rare kinds of shadows. dark pockets in daylight where nothing is permanent.

how was it. or could it have been. weaving life from strands of death. as if.

but only now and after. so they say. open wounds find new flesh. but what they had let out remains.

9:30pm 08-05-04 thursday

i sit here listening as the hours implore. and they scramble, disoriented with how i ignore.

i wonder not. and don't know. what is the color of alone. nor how it differs from choosing that road.

it is a common truth, but a solitairy rendition. how do i know you. or know anyone. only by how i find myself inside your reflection.

it could be how at last i die. or it could be how i am born anew. it's merely a matter of how we use it. if we swallow or if we spit.

lick the bone after all the skin has melted. feel the muscle as it is liberated. chase the night in human canoes. embrace the saltwater as it hugs your wounds.