poetry

the current dogma

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

Machine aspirations,

a constant race to be mechanized,

ending in what?

 

Throw out free will,

stomp on the buddhists,

burn down natural medicines.

 

Inject it all into your body,

you number in a world of numbers

causation moves you anyhow,

and nobody asked for 

an expression of

the opinion your

biology forms.

 

Break down anything that can not be explained away

by science,

the infallible dogma of modern man

as flawed and subjective as what came before

with a few fancy tricks and facts to cover it all up.

 

Why explains the holes,

or even acknowledge them?

 

Shut them the fuck up,

and let's wait with wealthy promises

and blind faith that gaps the size of canyons

will be filled eventually.

 

Blind faith, 

partial truths,

dogmatic obedience.

 

Yup,

we have since this all before.

A vacancy for thoughts

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

You're empty,

an overwhelming vacancy for thoughts,

that could never get filled.

 

Drink it or laugh it all away.

 

You're stupid,

but maybe that's what your friends like about you,

no hard thoughts

nothing concrete.

 

A complete drain of intelligence,

IQ-lowering to have you around,

and trust me,

that's why they like you.

 

There is nothing deep about pointing out the shallow,

and there is nothing gained for the shallow.

 

Maybe it plants a seed though,

go read a book

think about life

do anything aside from dancing

fucking

drinking

or television

at least for a little while.

the suspended roof

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Accusations do not fall on deaf ears,

or so adeptly

as to avoid the true intent.

 

Intention is critical for a partnership without walls

but what holds up the roof?

 

In that question lies the secret,

and moreso in that answer.

Panic

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

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.

somehow dreams

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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.

hateful engine turning

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

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.

clear head of dawn

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

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.

wake up you star

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

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.

screaming at you

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

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.

Matches and paper tigers

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the odds were not to sink of swim

because that ain't man-shit,

it's paddle or drown into the history of other failures

so moody

these blues

or maybe vibrant reds that inspire

and push the boundaries in a meta-physical fake uncaring

and loving way

as if boundaries existed and one knew how to push them further.

hint, you don't know,

they don't exist,

and I meant that,

THEY DON'T EXIST,

not where it counts – in your head,

that's where the magics happens and the slight of hand

revealing poems constructed in a minute

consuuming life energy

red bull on your soul

leave you tired, depleted, pretending to be broken

you just need a day off – lucid- well the lottery won't give it

the machine needs you.

What machine?

You communist fucker,

christianity as a scape-goat,

like bashing it makes you relevant and makes history nicer

and between the lines

but it isn't.

History is not between the lines here

or anywhere else,

and it made no sense to attack ghosts as if it meant

you had a right hook worth anything

you don't

you paper tiger

I hope you go play with matches.