Dark Poetry Prose Poetry September 30, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

9-30-04 8:59pm thursday

discertations on why. self-contained jury. hand me down alibies.

there's everything to learn, but nothing to know. it's on belief that we suckle. on truth that we choke.

you can read people like newspapers. headlines in your face. so loud and urgent as they assume you'll believe the words.

it's just as easy not to believe as it is to accept. the difference only being marked by what hope with which you're left.

it's no more beneficial to be suspicious than it is to be trustful. the results of those decisions will show themselves soon enough. it certainly isn't neccessary to be right to know when you've been wrong. and so too the reciprocal.

it ought to be obvious. like how the purple sunset permeates the clouds. bleeding through to all those edges. like how a single kiss starts at your lips and filters quickly through to all your appendages.

memories fold like sheets. those elasticized edges make it impossible to do it neatly. they'll always be wrinkles no matter how much you iron. the edges will never quite meet flushly no matter how hard you try.

those elasticized hems that keep them in place while you kick and turn in your bed. they make it impossible to fold as neatly as when you first opened up the package.

09-30-04 10:23pm thursday

it's a cold appeal we make to that enormous past behind us as we sit on tomorrow's knee. riding imaginary horsies. putting commas where periods ought to be.

it's low like the hum of a dream starting its engine as we fall asleep. not much horse power, but plenty of gasoline.

it's easy to feel how you thought it should've been. and glare at the truth. like it's your nemesis. but it doesn't even know you. it never had that chance. it was only being itself. i can't hate it for that.

some hearts are concaved. they hold everything that falls into them. they tend to force everything that was on the edge toward the center. it's not intentional. it's just how they are made.

others are convexed. anything that lands upon rolls right down to the bottom. cannot penetrate that apex.

when all your life, all you've wanted to to see it end, it isn't easy to sit with the memory that changed your perspective. to sit beside it and hear it tell you why you've been wrong all this while.

having spent so many years thinking you know all that you need to. believing you've learned everything there is to.

it's not easy to remember when the memory tends to defy you. sitting beside you still, but no longer your advocate.

all i can do is wonder if anything it said was true. if this life mattered at all to it. or if it was nothing. nothing at all to you.