The universe,
A river.
A memory being recalled
Over and
Over again.
The details are built
With a common likeness
An inescapable sameness
That all these ugly words won’t capture.
The lust is new again
Until it gets old,
A familiar, ticking timebomb of boredom.
It waits,
As only boredom can.
And I want to play.
I’m something now but feeling hollow,
time all spent with the same result
life is a neutral game.
The more we push against others
and against objects,
the further we drift from anything that is real.
I find myself in a void with strangers,
strangers as half-empty, half-hollow as me,
but I don’t think they can see it.
From the skies we see
Lights in the dark
Each one being controlled by living
Specks floating
In the chaos of being.
No tangible meaning
But each one an entirely new reality.
Your unsteady steps on
The surest of floors
And you were never certain or
Balanced.
Layers of makeup used to mask
The heavy doubt wrought by social judgment
And disguise the years lived.
The disguises fell apart in the face of
my megaphone self
Leaving us both vulnerable but wanting.
We sit frozen in time
– An impasse of a higher order –
And await the final, frail decision.
The thoughts pour our of my brain
And steam through the open air,
All on the tip of my tongue but never captured.
I reach out a searching, slender finger
An attempt to capture or excite them onto the paper
Or at worst, grab them around the neck and wrestle them onto the page.
Boredom burns in me like a smouldering pile of ashes,
Useless and existing but nothing else,
I have no use for it except that it disgusts me
And maybe that toxic reaction pushes me on.
Andy Veilleux 