D. B. DEVILLIERS

Poetry

Tag: optimism

Letter To Myself/Ravings

Years ago
I remember
I wrote myself a letter
to be opened at some distant point in time
one long since passed by;
funny how the future seems to become
the past without ever really
being the present at all
it just barrels along too fast for anyone to keep up
and that’s why I never opened that letter
which I’d fully intended to read on the date
the date I’d arbitrarily chosen for reading that letter
but we’re two different people
my past and present selves
and not two people who’d get along
no, if I could speak to myself in the past
or pose a question to myself in the future
I wouldn’t
I wouldn’t say a fucking thing
because what I’d say to me at seventeen
if I could think of anything to say
would fall on deaf ears that
don’t know that
they can’t hear
and anything I could ask the future
couldn’t be answered—
not in any way I’d understand.

Maybe this is what people talk about
when they talk about living in
the moment
and taking it day by day
and those sorts of cliches
but I always figured it’d bring about some zen-like calm
serenity state of self-secure sangfroid.
No, another concern just slides up to take its place
like hydra heads springing from severed stumps.

There’s no winning since
all the players die first
the game beats itself
when no one’s left alive to play
and then it ceases to exist
for a game is no more than the people who play it.
I guess that’s why life itself is one game I don’t play
to win.
It’s rigged every which way
and it always wins
I don’t.
I guess the reason I play at all is that I’ve always done it
I can’t remember any different
and I often think about how I can jump to my feet, overturn
the table
draw down on the dealer
contact range, base of skull
crack
turn, level the pistol
toward the door, crack
crack crack round the deadbolt
bring my boot-heel to bear upon the mechanism and
run off into the night
but where would I go?
and what would I do?
I’ve got a sinking feeling that there’s
nothing past that door except nothing
so I’ll keep quiet and I’ll keep playing
keep losing, keep losing, keep the piece in its holster
dealers dealing, doors barring
medullae and lock cylinders intact.
I have a vague, sinking sense that there’s
nothing, nothing better out there.

Besides, the room is warm
the company’s not bad
the drinks are cold
and I’m losing with
utterly impeccable style
which in my experience is
much more memorable than merely
winning.

I haven’t read the letter, don’t intend to.
I’m too busy keeping busy
for
that.

What We Can

We all do what
we can.
We all do
what we can
just what we can
just as well as we can.
Even the devil’s
probably
doing no worse
than the very best
he can.

A New Day

I lost my job again
stopped showing,
didn’t call again
but that’s okay.
I slept til four PM
each day
for the last week again
but that’s okay.
I got piss-drunk again
can’t remember, but heard I
insulted all my friends
again
but that’s okay.

Today’s a new day.

Lots of places seeking help
and I didn’t like my job anyway
and those nights awake
were worth the wait—
I’d thoughts I may not think again
and my friends all know the way I am
and in spite of that, they’ll stay.

So life’s okay on this overcast day
and I’ll keep living on, some way.

Greener Grass

Of course, the grass is no greener
in the places I’m not
but hopefully, maybe
if I’m lucky
it’ll be a little bit
less brown.

Hope

But what’s the problem?

The sun shines

birds sing

the trees are green and

they sway in the breeze

and I’m not quite dead yet.

It’s tough to see it all, of course

through the smudged and

cracked lens of my mind’s eye

but maybe if I get the focus just right

I might catch a glimpse of it

and I might know

and I might understand.

 

I might.

 

Maybe I’ll find the strength

to get out of bed

sometimes.

Maybe I’ll get a job

and maybe this time

I’ll keep that job

for longer than a month or two.

Maybe this time is more

than a tally-mark etched

into a concrete wall.

Maybe this time

is the time when

I break down the concrete wall

and my registry of failure crumbles

along with it

and I run so far away

so, so far away

from here.

Maybe.

 

I have to hope

or I’ll never leave.

 

So, then

I’ll hope.