Dark Poetry Prose Poetry September 23, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

09-23-05 friday 8:37am

distant hands feel not the growing tumors on shrinking hearts. they touch with their minds an image of what was once. but that image was always false. and now time has proved. those mountains climbed are not what you think they are.

the hour waits with warm infection. to break the skin and mix the blood. with faces whose eyes never open. and books upon whose pages cannot be written. every word from then and after cancerous. everything infected.

distant is the memory of. the tumble of life in flowing veins. as river after river is drying up.

09-23-05 friday 11pm

tugging on thoughts inert. movement is a terminology more than a presense. evolving as lives do toward different fruitions. if i am now, i must have always been. the presense transparent within. an innate need to be catapulted by transition and circumstance.

if we are, we always must be. in some form. in some contrition. the ambivalence is shaken. life disparages, but cannot conceal.

words that paint walls in other minds. colors they'd otherwise never be. moments that create islands in oceans unnamed. places you've never been marking your journey.

close your eyes and open your hand. see, what with sight you can't.

the rainbow in their grief. the after in the before. the colors of living as they bleed.