Poetic Prose

in mornings both stark and abundant gather the dreams last night dare not have dreamt. and we wake too early. irritated by the dampness. to soiled sheets. itching skin. clothes stained.

and a thousand baths still won't cleanse.

there was a window that briefly opened. i stuck my arm out and felt the kiss of an eager wind. as it carried life close to its breast. adn though i wanted it so much, i knew i belonged behind the glass.

perhaps in a life long gone we each were beautiful together. and only in this one we stare and wonder from behind these barriers.

it's life that revs under our flesh as we swallow the world in medicated capsules. it's the past that tunes these heavy engines as they rumble and moan for roads we'll never fetch.

it ought to suffice, just to ask, but the answer's a much greater burden than the question.

i don't know what we could be. but i know what we've been to each other.

truth accomdates. and life is lenient. but memory is so strict.

it's not hard to live with, but it can make it hard to want to live it.

don't you remember. don't you dare. it's not ours to keep anymore.