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trust your instincts

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	May 18, 2003

in the dark that turns upon itself (Photo: Freeman Patterson) in the dark that turns upon itself raindrops fall like melancholy, wrench the numb relief of disconnection, stir the recollections we can't bear (whisp'ring: maybe if we huddle very still ) of what's been lost (then they won't see us here ) within our stark and solitary cell (and then perhaps they'll go away ) a thousand miles beneath reality there should be names to call the colours that we see so clearly we become a part of them: deluge grey and wetleaf green -- the weight of water droops the world so everything is down- cast why can we not be good enough at least to those who cannot understand the gnawing from inside, the yawning emptiness that grinds our peace of mind to dust? there is no comfort in the dark nor in the glare of streetlamps, reading lights, television screens, distractions from the emptiness that will not go away: at least in darkness there's the seratonin drip, the dim flicker of awareness -- we say, please, not again, so tired of not being able to say no more 2:02:28 PM  trackback []  comment []

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