Dark Poetry Prose Poetry Bovember 17, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

Thursday, 17 November, 2005 12:11AM

the cobblestone in your thoughts. makes everything that rolls over it vibrate. unevens all footsteps, but it lasts so much longer than pavement does.

acute angles of the heart narrow choices. still, no matter what, those three corners must always add up to 180 degrees. they want to change us. sometimes it seems they almost can.

half a circle. one tenth a reason. the pi is squared because round doesn't understand. all those sharp corners lives must encounter.

so near to the pinnacle. like the last bread crumb in a long trail. I found the victims. and we were them.

the forests we'd lost ourselves in constantly telling us the world out there was gone.

but it wasn't.

only us from it.

no gap left in absense apart from the void that always was.

time forgets, but i still remember her.

fruit that falls because it's never picked. blame the tree if you must. but empty still is your basket.

Thursday, November 17, 2005 10:23PM

cobras in their baskets remiss with those charms. under their lids. in weave fractured darkness. sleeps quiet the threat until awoken by some enchanting song.

time is a relative term. measured in varied increments by each life that weighs it. given time enough i'll remember again who i was. who i should've been. or if not, in time, i'll learn to forget whatever it was i thought i wanted.

there's no tunnel. therefore, no light at the end of it. there's only vision wide with this great expanse that living dares. and tiny matchsticks gallantly trying to illuminate so much darkness.

sight means nothing when there's nothing to look at. and light is not a neccessity when you are going nowhere.