Thought I'd bust some prosety. [these are a little old]:You know, what the hell.

[for those new to my schtuff: prosety is a term i coined to describe my more creative writings, which tend to not quite be poetry but not quite act like prose either. So. -m. ]


_________

feelin
a bit like a scared shot,
a deer backin off back into the bramble,
send it up like a flare into the night sky over these woods,
imperial violet with your golden glare skittering an arcing armature sideways there--
slanting my face into white-lit illumination,
throwin shadows around.
i'm afraid of everything.

_________


What is this thing that moves me up and to the keyboard, to medicine, when I'd be so content to be pressed here, down by an equal and opposite force?
We all get it, we all understand the thing that makes you lie down under it like under the wheels of a merciful machine;
But I have no name for what propels me to move limbs and try to climb out of bed and into waking life.
How fascinating our will to go on, how nameless a force, that trope towards the next daylight, how silent an owner,
so stealthy it takes me creeping like a rapist.
The will to live, I think, though,
is still a cruel mistress,
a yanking leash round the neck,
no kinder than the will to death.
I’d like to have no owner at all,
my head all to my own
to lean my life which way I wish.


_________


Tuesday, June 11, 2002

yeah, that jam in the low back,
the base of spine
a spire and quick tighten,
a snag to catch on,
quick and tripping,
and i grit my teeth and grin,
reminding me that death's got my number
maybe not so much as others
but more than some,
reminding me to claw through each day like a metal folding chair
slammed square to the jaw and hard
sending the hours spinning.