D. B. DEVILLIERS

Poetry

Month: March, 2020

Ten And Eight Tenths Of A Mile, 84 Westbound

There are words I imagine
I imagine
for when your life explodes without
much warning
there’s the sudden ice storm the rain which
freezes damn near instantaneously upon the asphalt and at
sixty miles per hour of course
there’s the old spin there’s the old hello the
passing semis
a hundred yards back
what can you do
hold steady touch neither the gas nor the brake
my father taught me well
and the embankment was conveniently leniently inclined
and the center of gravity in a small cheap commuter car is
thankfully low for the rapid lateral transition of traction
there are words
there must be words for when four seconds feel like forty
there must be words for when you nearly kill
yourself and two of your best friends
there are too many things are happening all at once
but I got me two options
and I intend to take the
harder one.

Words For Someone Who Helped Put Words In My Head Once

oh lovely lovely
the pain I could never have presumed to imagine
because of course there do exist
people who hide it a little better than I do
or they deal with it better, feel free to pick one

suppose it’s not an awful bet to just go ahead and
assume anyone you might come across in the street or wherever has
more than likely known suffering beyond reckoning
but we get so goddamned hung up on ourselves
coroner’s summation: asphyxiation by having hanged oneself from oneself
perpetual motion sorts of self-destructive engines we might be
but we’re young enough still
like to think if I’m lucky enough to see ninety I’ll still
think I’m young enough to hope
for the next day
and oh lovely
doesn’t this world just tear you to pieces

speaking of course for myself—largely just guessing in your case
suppose I wouldn’t have minded learning to make more than a mere
guess but I am at this point not but the manner of man who I am
and I know what manner of man that is
so of course I couldn’t begin to blame you

we’ll get to that place
not together, at different points in space and time but I do
honestly believe that is a place and it’s not heaven but it’s
what we all hope and try and strive for
we won’t meet there
but there will be a great open sky and
deep red earth and on occasion the pitiless sun will
run out for a smoke break and we’ll grab a drink of water and cool in
the fleeting shade and it’ll be so breathtakingly

well

the poet makes his effort at five o
clock in the morning
and promises nothing short of honesty
and certainly not specificity

but I believe the pitiless sun will bake the earth to the
grill cover shimmer and the sky will be so awfully blue and
your paradise will not be mine but there will be love in my heart
for this thing I had to hurt so much for
to keep above ground
to keep moving
and I believe in you as well
there will be love in my heart and that must be
what we suffer for
oh lovely
that must be it.