D. B. DEVILLIERS

Poetry

Month: November, 2017

Words/Futility

I am Dustin’s senseless existential rage
directed via typebar hammer blows against
this blank page
for lack of a better target.
It bleeds painlessly in ink
a delusion of something less
impotent.


 

This works better in its original typewritten form but in any case, here we are.

Or Rather, Don’t Bother—It’s Not Important

Won’t you please just
get to know me won’t you
please just tell me what
you find since I don’t
know a fucking thing
about me.

Glamorous Drunken Poem Re: Clinical Depression—Merit Badge Of Writers Since Time Immemorial

I’m almost nearly drunk enough to write
so write I shall—
it’s strange
well not really
but it’s that time of year
when I breathe smoke and the
dormant shivering skeletal trees loom
and no matter that things are
going exceedingly well for me as of late
no matter
no matter
because it’s in my blood
or so they say
I wish it weren’t so
but in any case
there’s no hope
it doesn’t matter
even if there were hope
I’d die
die die
die
it doesn’t matter
it doesn’t
matter
these things end one way
I feel nothing but anger or at least I feel it
in the way that despair manifests
as anger
never been an angry man
but here I am
becoming what I never was
and always will be
these words mean nothing
even to me
just drunken non-meaning
because maybe I’ll live
and be happy someday
right
or maybe I’ll die and
never be
and still
it won’t matter.

It always comes
in the fall
the cynicism the dark fucking
turn of my goddamned
broken mind
and all I can do is write it
or what would I do
what would
I
do.

I’ll get past it, I will
I always have but still
I wish this was good
I really do
but it isn’t
and that’s the very very
best I can
do.