Dark Poetry Prose Poetry October 17, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

2:26pm 10-17-04 sunday

cautious.
the first snowflake.
the blizzard at its throat.

brave.
the first snowflake.
so alone.

early.
the sun's eyes just opening.
after a long night of romancing the moon.

late.
clouds disparaging
in purple barrels of pink cotton candy.

speaking. cautious.
without a sound.
the first snowflake tastes the ground.

10-17-04 9:23pm sunday

contributing. alive. unaware of how.

twofold dreams occuring not during sleep. veins erupt with brighter blood.

the night speaks in sign language and i listen. listen with my eyes.

seeing thoughts. thoughts arriving like freshly delivered packages.

slit the tape. open the boxes. find the contents.

contributions falter. crippled humanity trying to climb mountains.

alive. yet unaware of how.

recedeing, yet reaching out.

the night speaks in sign language and i hear. hear her with my eyes. asking.

but i have no reply. all i can offer is my sympathy.

9:38pm sunday 10-17-04

humbled moons steal away with kisses from the sun. what daylight remembers of us is what for night offers forgiveness.

truth detracts from what we need. time offers nothing but more wounds. yet less to bleed.

that phantom in my bed is only emotion creating an oasis for the stranded.

i inhale the memory with each breath. it's in the air that surrounds me. it's the rhythm in every song i sing along with.

quietly, so no one hears me. just lips moving with the concept.

the words dance. the chords mimic.

mockingbird hearts singing songs that don't belong to them.

10:03pm sunday 10-17-04

now is open. like gaping lips. all hungry for the taste. the saliva. the kiss. of anyone else.

anyone besides myself.

drawing on your skin. time presses us so close. until there's nothing between us except those lives we led before this.

drawing on your skin. in purple ink. to define the image before the needle makes it permanent.

now lays open. hollow. like egg shells in a bowl. as the cake rises. still hardening. solidifying.

now. that is what i am left. now filling my thoughts as yesterday is excreted. just like the shit it's been.

just like everything you nourish your body with, it comes out the other end. smelling bad and leaving you hungry again.

i'm ardent. ardent as i've ever been. but the walls are slick. the windows locked.

i'm smelling it. a new meal on the wind. but my fangs are dull. my claws retracted.

you're close, but i am far from.

i am not the prey. nor the hunt. we are all alive, but only in the strictest sense.

i heard it only once. that whistle life gives off as you make it breathe again. i heard. as i stepped cautious.

the need for other skins. the compulsion to wrap yourself in them.

you can smell it from miles away. if you're hungry enough you can. sense it changing the course of your own blood.

you can taste it. if you close your eyes and imagine how it might feel to be loved.

10-17-04 10:43pm sunday

life is hard so use its force. make it your armor.

life is wasted on the living. so show it just how well you're dying.

life is what we are. knowing nothing, but wanting so much.

skin of the dead chicken with so many feathers left to pluck.

life is wasted on people. words are wasted on poets. defective hearts struggling to move more than just blood.

thinning skin constantly trying to hide the the seams they've split.

i promise only that my honesty will be my mark. as i navigate.

i promise only that nothing is. as i lean back. lean back into the folds of memory. that those stitches were mine. wong or right. that it's over. it is.

goodbye. goodbye again.