There is a new writing that happens
that I WILL TO BE
when there are not consequences.
My art will not choke,
surely will not drown,
in this free space.
You could not stop the word,
not by ending the site,
because there is paper,
or destroying paper,
because there is voice and signals,
and not by endings my movements,
because of the mind,
or of ending my life,
as there may somehow be dreams.
Maybe,
somehow.
The one who stares does not believe in it
– it’s just not right –
what an expert,
with all the accolades and medals
and people lined up outside that door
wanting to bang it down
-oh, wait, that’s false –
there’s no banging
and no chances for the
one who stares
and acts so innocently.
It’s all a game
one of silly stakes and fun
but not the kind the one would get
if the one could have fun.
archaic, devoid of fun, seems likely…
coded messages,
but not so coded
and also not quite real
for what are words on a page
with given names not taken
but others given.
you know exactly what this is,
feel empowered
– that’s not how life works –
interpretation is a cruel mistress,
but not ignorant at least
Hell,
not ignorant.
That puts it leagues ahead,
miles beyond what does not matter.
The kid gloves come off like
clothing
and my god,
what a strange hotel room with strange people
– strangers –
and maybe they weren’t all that strange
but so ordinary
normal
boring
military.
No use for gloves
wraps
tape
or anything to soften blows
always did blow at softening my words
anyhow,
and now there is that pain again
-anger flushes the face and leaves righteousness
made holy by sheer emotion
and nothing could be more divine/exciting.
Was I ever loved as a poet,
did you love me for my poetry?
double-edged problem,
the love doesn’t quite turn the engine like hate
and you do hate me
because I know.
All your stupid friends were wrong,
are wrong,
and will never
grow up
learn the difference between
something real and fake
breathing.
How many head boards did it take
to alter her brain
– either way
she hit more than was necessary –
and you can take that to the bank
though not the bank she would favour.
And what mud slinging mattered
on late nights where idiocy is laid bare
and honesty rolls off the tip of the tongue
– which has more uses than she would lead you to believe –
she was never much for talking,
never having much to say.
A rant of razors,
dagger words slicing their way to the
core
and what matters.
Who are the you in ‘your,’
as if there was a Sherlockian puzzle to solve,
but like Doyle I haven’t laid bare all the required pieces.
There is implication,
but it is a falsehood,
because it isn’t about you or who you may think.
And who cares?
Any port in a storm,
and what better storm than life,
what better port than a lover?
And any port,
indeed.
there was always a chance to admit it,
and you were so annoyed,
so annoyed,
as it that qualified anything.
I didn't care then and I don't now,
and if anything a clear head of dawn
has increased the anger a few steps further.
How dare you
collides with
why would you
and the fog was too obvious a simile.
There is a cloudiness to intention
an excusable amount of distasteful action
and reality should also set in.
And what of intentions?
As if they mattered as anything more than a building block of furniture
in hell.
nobody has time for spell checks and editing
and if you do
I question your poetry.
If it doesn't explode off of your brain and imaginary tongue
like ballistic missiles aimed at all the soft parts
-the testicles, tits and clits of the people-
I don't read you and won't hear of you.
Wake up.
That's it,
wake up.
You're not dreaming and I'm not in here to be your friend
so wake up and get your shit together
there's no cuddly fuzzy bear with honey flowing out of his furry ass
coming to encourage you along your merry way
that bear will slap you in half and sit on your face for no reason:
slap, sit, dead.
Life happens in dead time
perception be damned
you are an exploded star and we are just watching from too far away to know the difference.
I have to write something smart
to replace that last idoitic waste
of space and life
and what are we actually doing
besidses throwing life and time and space at our problems
i guess we throw money
but money is human-made
-AS IF TIME ISN'T-
feel it out physics or well,
science
feelings
irreconcible differences
or hadn't you heard?
Well,
I had heard and saw the second coming
but many more than that too
and nothing change.
Time is a rubber stamp
no definite moments
– a building falls, bombs burst, a baby born-
just a stream that does not always
follow the path of least
or most
resistance.
As gravity, we think it exists and
you are an absolute idiot for believing in it or disbelieving it,
take you pick you absolutel idiot.
Disheartening,
but we're all ignorant and don't forget it,
and I love you anyways,
but I'm an ignorant idiot too so take that for what it's worth.
We're going to rev up the motor scooters,
or my name is not Hipster.
I just wasted fifteen seconds of your life
-AND YOU WILL NEVER GET THEM BACK.
I am SCREAMING,
did you feel that?
Well,
I didn't scream, but I felt like screaming.
At this, at you, at the screen, come a little closer, please?
Deficit-running, your job, or mine,
but throw around pay raises for the rich,
you cliché pseudo-intellectual.
Yes we know about that,
everybody does.
Bang you way into the system if you want to change it,
classic revolution is meant for non-complacent, non-fat., non-first-world places,
bang your way up with your mouth, face, fists, vagina or dick,
make it where your mom and dad never did,
and take home the five figure pay raise to make them so proud
time is money but not really
because it isnt
it seriously isnt.
You are dying,
I am dying,
the money is seperate
and good luck with that crisis when it hits your 'furrows of worry' and bank accounts.
Andy Veilleux 