D. B. DEVILLIERS

Poetry

Month: December, 2017

An Approximation

All poets are liars—
it’s never as bad or as beautiful
it’s always better and worse than
the verses which
describe it

and this is worth wasting
words on
approximating, failing, worth it
you are worth it
in my bleak brain these
oblique sentiments actually pass for
romance
it’s the best I can do
and I hammer them into words as
water might be nailed to wood
and I hope it’s enough
I hope

because it’s never as bad or as beautiful
but in this case the words
are so much less
beautiful.

If/Then

Maybe if I were happier
I wouldn’t be such an asshole.
Maybe I’d be happier
if I weren’t such
an asshole.

Predictable Outcomes/It Didn’t It Couldn’t She Couldn’t Who Could No One

This will never work
of course
this is true because I already believe
it to be true but even
if I didn’t it
wouldn’t work

because I can’t change
or at least I’ve not yet
been able to change and
I have little
faith that I ever
will

I am not a happy man
I am not good at making other people
happy
how could I?
how could I even know how?
if I am anything it’s
sad
deeply deeply sad
for reasons beyond me
or maybe not, maybe I know why
but if I do
it doesn’t matter anyway so
please
fuck
save me if you can
but I know you can’t
and I’m so sorry.

I’m so sorry.


It doesn’t matter please don’t think it matters it wasn’t it wasn’t you it wasn’t your fault