nacht

I was not expecting to see a prose poem. I am overjoyed to see a prose poem. The form is so under-appreciated, and you did a wonderful job working within this form. The language, though deceptively simple, is just paired wonderfully with the complex sentences, and that it doesn't pretend to or attempt to be anything other than it is makes the second section in particular especially poignant.

I have but one minor quibble, and it lies with the usage of the Roman numerals to split up the sections. Or, more accurately, it's not so much the Roman numerals themselves but that you've appended a period upon them.

I told you it was minor.

Not really sure what this all is and what sort of a review your looking for, but I am still going to post one.

there is a place where voices are calling out to you, all the time, everywhere-- a labyrinth where you never walk the same hallway twice, and where storms exist in the form of beasts towering over you, but they're not there to fight.

here, colors are expressed as sounds, and words are understood only by those who listen for the contrast of black on white-- pay close attention and you'll find like-minded strangers discussing matters best left attended by quiet pages and quieter eyes than most common passersby are keen to notice in the dimly lit mornings, when they wander empty riverbeds and wait for the sober daylight to flood through their ears.

opening the blinds, I can only hope to convince myself that my heart is not as insignificant as she assures me it is, and that alone hurts more than every last one of the wounded, dying animals of emotion howling from within me.

I can feel them gnashing their teeth at night, crying out in endless repetition because they can't understand all of the outrage, the imperfections, the defiant hands pushing their backs to the wall and saying "it wasn't supposed to be this way" or the note fluttering quietly against the window that says "I'm leaving."