Life

Man out of time

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

Months no longer mattered
Much less days
And time itself took on a liquid form.

Time was never much of a fact for me
I never gave encouragement to notions of
Supper time or bed time
And especially
Time to unwind.

My mind was already unwound enough
And it could never be reunited or relaxed
It was as it was.

There was no sharpness to life lately
And everything took on the familiar
Grey, blurred qualities I was used to.

This was how it felt to be out of love,
Out of life
And somewhere part worries or doubts.

To everyone whom I have spent a night with

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

Love does not happen in a
Set space or time,
Sometimes it happens in one
Small
Seemingly for fun alone
Moment
And sometimes it spans years or decades.

It holds me alike either way
And I find myself reflecting on
Everyone with whom I have spent an evening
More commonly these days
And much more fondly.

There was love
Even within other love
And maybe there always will be.

Surely, there always will be.

We watched Harper reelected,
Consummated years of built-up lust,
Snuck away to your jeep,
Frequently tents or spent time laughing in a tent shared with a friend,
Spent time as three in a shower for two ,
Exchanged pictures or videos,
There was no limit to the fun.

The fun ends they all say,
But maybe they never experienced the fun that I had,
Or they didn’t understand that this fun
Could be built and sustained by two and two alone,
Granted you had the right two.

Australia,
Newfoundland,
Quebec,
British Columbia,
Taiwan,
And of course Sudbury,
Thank you everyone and everywhere.

Life is much less painful and gruesome
When a bed is filled with two or three
than when it is one,
And there have been tens of twos.

So tired

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

My soul had become so tired

ragged

but my body could never catch up.

 

I sat awake,

laid in beds staring

at ceilings that did not mean anything

even with the shapes I imagined dancing.

 

There were occasionally figures dancing

on the ceiling with the brutal brush strokes

but also in the corner of my eyes

but when I turned

you were gone.

 

Life can hurt you when you are laying around

in the quiet and isolated moments

where no one is being touched or touching you

and there’s too much gravity to get comfortable.

 

Bukowski spoke of his soul dropping

down through the mattress,

but maybe if it was just a soul

I would cut my losses and move on without it.

 

It wasn’t just a soul being left behind

and there wasn’t a mattress expensive enough

to lull this tired mind

and worn-out body

into dream’s clutches.

 

The condo echoed the ticking, broken clock,

a casualty of one of my latest good memories,

and the condo snapped awake with heat against

an uncharacteristically chilly St. John’s evening.

 

The place had no apt defenses to the cold

just as I had found myself savaged not long ago

because the cold of places and especially of people

has a way of taking us by surprise.

 

The frost sneaks up around your

walls of trust and respect

and bites at whatever it can touch

and unfortunately

we let it into the most tender and

intimate

areas.

 

I wasn’t sure if the scars had accumulated too much,

the real pain of all of these open woulds stung too much

or the phantom pain of everything lost and still felt

was the culprit,

but sleep remained elusive nonetheless.

 

The reason doesn’t matter,

because humans aren’t built on rationality,

not at our deep and tender levels,

and that’s where all the real danger was.

 

There were many ghosts that became my friends

even though they prevented me from sleeping

and there was a white elephant in the room that

I wasn’t going to talk about anymore.

This leaving

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

This leaving means nothing to some
And everything
For me.

Its not a matter of missing or
Loving
Or the sorrow that sits in the pit
Of your guts and waits
To break out.

Life happens while I sit
Still
And obsolete.

No longer the wanted one
And
Haven’t been
For years basically
But that’s what life delivers
In between the cracks of progress.

We mirror our culture:
Bored with everything
Constantly needing the new
Never wanting to sit and wait
Or taking the time to explore the familiar,
And that’s modern love.

Worthless
Broken
And idling at the curb with
no chance of salvation.

Nobody picks up the strays,
They find their way to the
Trash
And we continue moving forward
Even the trash.

Some lives were not meant for glory
And some are
Meant for much less
But we live all the same.

the value of a man with a gun

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

Thoughts beat as sledgehammers,

sieging my fragile, near-dawn mind,

The answer to the question is easy,

and therefore too hard to accept.

 

Wordsmiths are not what they were,

in the gun-slinging days,

when words oft failed.

 

No one values a man with a gun,

like they value one who can still

cheat

lie

beg

and generally be a scum-sucking

waste

of

flesh.

 

First-hand experience is trump,

and I can throw around bowers

with the kings of the underworld.

 

What happened to the sweet genius?

Where lay the inoocent, golden locks

of my youth?

 

When does a broken man,

oft mistaken for a saint,

and too hard on himself,

qualify for ascension?

 

The devil is in the details,

and she is dancing so lovely,

tonight.

 

The battle is between loneliness,

a long-neglected sense of destiny,

and the warm feeling of security;

nothing else matters.

 

Life doesn't go around handing out lemons,

it squirts them in your eye

while it kicks the piss out of

the useless, slowly-dying gas-bag

we all seem to refer to as the human body.

 

That's life,

and we deserve it.

A simple definition for the ever-burning question of love

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

Something stagnant,

 but comfortable,

and safe.

 

Something taken for granted,

chokes and fails,

giving way to,

nothing of value.

 

Something appreciated and nourished,

gets back up,

with every fall,

and won't die.

 

Boredom battling,

against an ideal of novelty,

scarcely acknowledged,

never understood.

 

Take it from a man,

who has survived many trenches,

nothing comes easy,

but something breaks easy.

 

Progress is possible

resistance is not futile.

get busy growing

/ andyveilleux / 4 Comments

The gates are down,

broken down,

I marched in with

malicious intent

as only humans can.

 

No survival instinct,

pure aggression unwrapped,

punching at your fragile state of mind,

to err is human,

to kill

maim

break

destroy

decapitate 

is GODLY.

 

there is no quick fix,

no fix at all,

for the broken humanity,

that still dances as a saint,

while proving to be the sinner.

 

No dawn will break,

there's no storm passing

which would break if weathered

long enough

unless you count on death,

which is always counted out

but never down for the count.

 

No twilight of peace,

and what a stupid book,

and what a stupid wish.

 

Life is a torrent of lightning,

fire and destruction,

where a tree shelters you

momentarily,

or you huddle with others

sometimes for a night,

sometimes for fifty years

but nothing lasts

and death is lonely.

 

Get busy growing,

or keep dying;

but enjoy it.

A dead connection

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

A dead connection,

struggling to stand on the horizon,

like a dead, hollowed-out metropolis;

once great, strong, and teeming with life

and love,

now thew blood has gone,

the face is pale.

 

Three years,

two,

what does it matter,

when you dance on the scythe

of a midnight sky

alone.

 

Your toes drag,

peeling skin leaving crimson,

on powdery white-blue acrylic skies.

 

The artist's brush paints

and captures a sadness inconceivable

to the human eye

but captured nonetheless.

 

Wrapped hands stop

red red waters of life

from deserting you

in a fight you've lost

for too many years.