Dark Poetry Prose Poetry October 29, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

9:23pm 10-29-04 friday

candle wax fingers caress the flame's edge. moist and hot as they let themselves turn from solid to liquid.

moist and hot as any lust is. clinging so close as it drips.

take it away from the heat and it quickly hardens. push it away. let it leave you. gravity insists.

it once was a pillar. staunch and upright.

now it is a puddle frozen solid.

i take my time with everything. both the happinesses and the abuses. i roll in them. like a pig. all covered in the filth in love with it.

i took my time as it allowed. there were lapses. warm bottles that would erupt. but when it was finally all over i sat back and charted the course. and saw the finish hadn't changed. only the start.

i saw that distance was not a measure of. since it had always remained constant. that i'd always end up in the same place. all that mattered was how wide the circle i had taken.

10-29-04 10:17pm friday

the left hand is where sin is kept. supposedly. the left hand is where satan stood at god's side before he was kicked out of heaven.

the left hand is the other side. the place you might be tempted to visit. but wouldn't choose to live.

the left hand is both my destiny and my choice. reaching with. wrong place. wrong side. reaching with an open fist. naked palm. shallow life-line.

the left hand is where dormant memories will sleep. deep shadows on a canvas consciousness cannot see.

the left hand is red and blue. rage and sorrow coupling. in a grotesque display of servitude.

the left hand is the one i raise the bottle to my lips with. steady and accurate.

the left hand is the one that leads the frenzy as the words follow their sprint.

the left hand is. alway has been. the place no one wants to be. and the only place i've ever been comfortable in.

i am left. expelled from heaven. i am left. always left with.