D. B. DEVILLIERS

Poetry

Month: April, 2018

Shouting

I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m shouting
I don’t know if you know this but
I’m trying this is a
new town a new place a new outlook a new
poem new eyes new this is a new car
this is new
this is an attempt
this is effort
this is killing me
this is slow death
this is me subverting a stereotype
this is where I do that
this is where I actively show weakness to people I don’t know
these are the problems of a man you wouldn’t like
this is how you ink a fountain pen
this is killing me
this is how you finish a liter of liquor in one short sitting
this is how you lose your mind
this is how
you can trust me I ought to know
this is how you think you’re worth it
this is how you write stilted verses on your
phone at three thirty in the
morning this is how many
milligrams you take and this
is how much you drink afterwards to
feel like at least tonight your
blood pressure probably won’t
rupture your eyes this is how you
take a deep breath and come back into
lower orbit this is how you think you’re
not batshit for a fleeting fucking
instant this is how you meet
new people this is how you
embarrass yourself this is
how you justify it this is how you
become unconscious
this is how you derive hope
this is how you lose your mind
this is how
this is killing me
I don’t know if you
can hear me but I’m
shouting.


It’s not so bad as it sounds.

Clever

The world’s fucked up
never really been up for dispute
but I doubt the world’s got much to do with it
if I’m fucked up
and I’m glad for that
it really is nice not starving
but isn’t it weird the way
easy life can be so goddamned hard
and here I hate my petty problems and I hate my stillborn failures
I hate my weakness and my fear and my anger and my hate
and I really fucking hate these clever little contradictory life paradoxes about
how ease is somehow difficult
I really do
which is a shame because I think I’m pretty good at coming up with them
used to amuse me but anymore they’re mostly
kind of cruel
all cute and succinct
an ego thing, maybe, like some very mild targetless sort of bullying—
I invite you to imagine me
sitting at a desk
in a room
anno domini twenty and eighteen
slamming right the carriage return lever after that line
cold coffee, stale cigarette smoke
smug little self-satisfied smile
being clever
being really clever

I bet you can see it
it’s been an easy image to cultivate, really
I just tell everyone I meet I’m a writer and that’s that
carry around a little notebook, never use it
mispronounce the names of philosophers misquoting books I’ve never read
probably thinks he’s lost, broken, unfit, unique just like everyone else
and no shit he just did it again with the paradoxes
can’t even help himself I bet
only he didn’t come up with that one himself
got it from a movie or a TV show or something
ah plagiarism old friend glad to see you glad to
and but wait was he trying to make some kind of cogent point here?
I’m not sure
but I feel better now
paper’s cheap
and anyway
I wrote this on a screen.