“Dark”

what’re dark nights for,
if not dying in books
and searching ruined
halls.

“Colour’s Burned”

It was decided to take colour
and cast it upward around behind
inside and out; to roll thoughts
through it, dyeing and dying
and changing and feeling new
feelings, all from colours burned
on the insides of eyelids
on the precipice of ignorance
on lovely words trapped within lips
on broken breaking scarred backs
and all forgotten things.

“Words are Dark”

In taking these words and bending them so
we work – breaking meanings forever forged
by dying decades of forgetful life.

I’ll decide what these words should mean to me
not the semantics of some quiet man
or the great works of those amongst the dead.

That’s why everything is dark, bleak, and black:
everything has been darkness to someone,
once – and everything will be wrong again.