zen

Thoughts on a bus on a snowy February evening

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

I don’t think about it anymore,
Or that’s what I tell you and
I’ll flash a trademark smirk out of
The corner of my handsome face to
Sink the hook in for my lies.

I’m harmless in love and life but
Don’t think you can walk away unchanged
I change everyone I touch and
Mostly for the better
Although the void that comes from
My absence
Can be life threatening
and possibly insatiable.

But isn’t that life?

A series of holes we try to fill with
Whatever fits in
Hoping something stood the bleeding or
At least slows it down enough for us to limp on.

Sometimes it works
At least temporarily,
And we hobble along like wounded soldiers
Or drunken idiots.

There’s no medic or stomach pump coming
And like mercury,
The pain and wounds never stop accumulating.

Some of us are tougher than others,
But what’s the harder,
More courageous choice?

Do we limp on and eventually be put down as old dogs
Or
Choose a time to bow out of the tragicomedy?

One feeling you wanted

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

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.

An old paint job sheds

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

An anxious energy shoots through my veins,

muscles, tendons, ligaments pulse; lightning,

firing through narrow tunnels filled with water,

propelling these tired, young bones into action.

 

Fists beat on concrete,

walls,

a scratch; no damage of note,

a chip,

of paint,

falls down,

smashing on the asphalt,

a thousand tiny pieces of,

neon orange,

from a picture of a Phoenix,

flames roaring, consuming;

you can't stop it.

 

Occasionally,

a new paint job,

is necessary,

and I live on,

shedding old, concrete-skin,

eroded by sunlight and wind,

even some of your rain,

do you remember the weathering affect,

of all your difficulty and indecision?

 

I don't;

I shed that memory,

with the old paint-job.