Dark Poetry Prose Poetry Bovember 8, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

Tuesday, November 08, 2005 11:16PM

weighing despair in feathers and boulders. in the velveteen satchels that memory uses to carry all feel soft as you tote.

all words are smooth snake skin as the sun wears you your lies. else in the cellar where the child still ferments the scent should finds its way into your head.

smooth and cold like a january morning. blankets lost. a stutter in your breath. a rod in your spine. as clear as the most lucid dream. it rises up slow from just beyond the farthest line of your sight. every action taken that's led you here.

but rather than wonder were they right or wrong. all you can ask yourself is whether it would've mattered.