The mirror betrays my false confidence as
the chiseled statue is now out of focus –
the panes of glass turned to waves of sand –
my eye catches more than normal as
the smoke has filled whatever it could not
kill,
and left my mind more and my being infinitely
less.
Half of me sleeps and
wakes up again,
The other half
laughs
all the time,
but hits like
a full punch,
a straight to the face
I was walking towards
that sits me down again.
On better nights I sit
and take it all in –
there must be somewhere that
feels like home –
the lights dazzle
and the crowd cheers,
the bed sheets hug me.
On worse nights I wake
still ordinary and plain
and corrupt from deep within –
every fibre of every inch of
bent, hammered steel of hatred
and destruction and cunning.
I am the two edges of excitement –
chaos and order –
dancing on one blade together.
I’ll cut you so you can feel alive,
and I’ll take every arrow fired at you,
to make my life feel less worthless.
People like atoms,
never quite touch despite appearences,
and are more likely to split and then
there is oblivion.
One step at s time,
souls as worn and dense as leather
each step a mile one razor blades freshly
sowing blood like buckets of crimson paint and
those were the best of times.
I remember in Low School
when they snickered
and still they snicker
sweating under blue collars that we wish
were nooses.
The academic, the dancer,
the artist
making others feel
different – for a change – and the reacttion
FEAR
evolution,
basic,
stupid
stupid
stupid
FEAR.
They tried to eat before being eaten
but the meal was too large for
small minds.
Now they face this
the unexplainable omnipotent
the rise of the nerds and artists and educated class
and the smarter ones know who
will become the master and who eats out of hands
but where does that leave you?
or me?
Or anybody that isn't a stereoptypical fake persona I created that you believed and got angry or loved and could not stomach or smugly stomached too easily.
And where does that leave us?
She who would move freely to heaven
suffocates in the lazy, charcoal clouds.
A misguided perspective
searching for a line among dots.
Any line will do and it shows.
Pull me out of my skull
where the thoughts tumble and
crash onto the ground like glass figurines
of old lovers and family.
A piece of heart for each leaves
a small sum remaining
but the metaphysical may reproduce
or re-grow or
maybe heal itself.
No,
let go of the self and
breathe.
Ascend.
There are no whispered secrets
LZEMIAZWEZHAZCHZ
I can waste lines
and still hear it all
so clear
and it must be known
and I would like it known.
a dollar doesn’t buy a nickel’s worth anymore,
and a secret denied could never save up for love.
Panic,
it’s the only appropriate emotion.
Any port in a storm,
and what better storm than life,
what better port than a lover?
And any port,
indeed.
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.
Blood grows on you,
figuratively,
it’s literal growth being so obviously internal.
It’s more the taste of it,
something external
but from the mouth the tongue the sensation the mind the craving
one tightly knit dance of destruction
One could leave it to the sharks
not as methodical as (wo)man
but honest
at least honest
a shark feeds and you know it feeds humans lie about it.
We swim with gills soaked in blood pretending it just happened to be in the water
Ethereal connection,
untouchable by the others,
and fuck the others.
Anyone would,
and us no less,
but we know fun,
passion,
yet sadness.
Sweet curves,
built to make grown men cry,
hold the weight of the world's
expectations of women to be thin.
Curved body,
a temple,
makes you want to get down
on both knees
and pray
or beg.
You are a ghost,
potential unrealized by others
But I look through and see you,
I see you
I see you through the drugs
love
sex
living
and you can come in from
the cold
that nips at heels so well travelled.
You've felt it,
haven't you?
The scars are there,
the healing is on the way,
drown it with fun
and people
who don't understand you
but I
I see you
I see you.
I see you,
ghost of now,
Standing out in a crowd,
only to vanish when the lights
come
out and the bar stools are put up.
You were never there for anybody
despite who you leave with
and you're always
coming
home to me.
Andy Veilleux 