Dark Poetry Prose Poetry Bovember 6, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

Sunday, November 06, 2005 10:15PM

the edge of the moment blurs as it meets the crux of need. with a flail of the talons that spring from hungry hearts the skin of the unripe fruit is easily pierced. gripped and lifted up and away from the vine where it's waited.

that's the only question ever required we ask ourselves. take what we want before it knows what it does or leave it there and hope when it falls we're near enough to catch it.

the urge to return to those previous paragraphs. the ones all scribbled in. it grows greater as more words distance us from eachother. chapter after chapter failing to resolve the intersecting plots of these two strangers.

it's the oldest temptation. to follow those footprints back to the places you've left. because forward takes you where you know not. and going forward seems only an illusion now. life paused at that divide while you wait for the bridge to close again.

and the sorrow you've left behind is such a comfortable fit. old, torn jeans that match your every bulge and indent.

the edge of life is blurry as it beckons me to draw nearer to it. look down. let the height make me sick until i become accustomed. and soon i'll stare down and feel nothing other than the urge to know its grip.