Devin's Poetry
Return
to the Writings Main Page.
Title List:
Sidestreets
(by Devin Cutler)
I have certainly been
quite oblivious
when I have travelled from here to there
during the course of my routine,
of the places that I passed
and the people I ignored
as I walked away,
unsuspecting
that I left
behind
much
And
I will
never pass
a place again
with such ignorance
because I realize
that amid the scenery
and the props of my existance
there was hidden a wonderful soul
who was found by fate and made exquisite
Mirage
(by Devin Cutler)
If it is ephemeral
and dreamlike
full of coincidence and miracles
like an index finger falling randomly
on a map of newsprint
charting an unknown destination
that leads to the heart's desire
And we are caught up in our own vision
stricken with fear that we might awake
and find that all is lost and never was
and we must tread slowly
where once we might have flown with wind
and fire dancing at our backs
Then I will gadly slip into the smooth
embrace of insanity and cast off
all the bonds and fetters of reality
and sleep and dream forever
knowing that in my delusions
I miss nothing - for you are there.
Untitled
1
(by Devin Cutler)
It lies flush. Exposed
pink and shiny on the hillside.
As the sun observes its flight
across the shadowed water,
the mountain moves
tossing the flesh like laughter
until it slides further into the brush
and waits awhile
for the flesh to expose itself
once again
Last
Night Late Night
(by Devin Cutler)
Last night I was a
couch potato.
I sat
with my legs in the air
on my sofa
and watched
Dynasty flash between
my feet.
I watched sitcoms roll
along my toe
and dribble down my
ankle.
And as I watched
this rather pedantic
extravaganza
I began to think:
Where am I?
What will I do
with my life?
And these questions
touched my sole
deeply.
More deeply than, say,
Happy Days.
The
Falls at Louise
(by Devin Cutler)
Have you ever seen
the frozen waterfalls
at Lake Louise?
They are fluid motion
frozen in time
like candle wax
as it drips down the tallow side.
They are static dynamos---
bursting with stillness,
like an infant
struggling to speak.
Each ripples and flows
and doesn't move an inch.
They are altars
to the paradoxes of life.
Luken
Folly
(by Devin Cutler)
Sit back.
Relax.
And watch the blood
ooze through your teeth.
Yesterday's plaster cracks
are today's tree roots
but no one cares.
Rise up if you can.
You see---
Death is stronger than
God
in a sneaky sort of way.
For while you fear the
latter,
you love the former
in a sneaky sort of way.
The
Decency of Past Indecencies
(by Devin Cutler)
When you watched the
man fumbling
in torn pockets
many years ago
and sit with cocoa brewing
on a crashing winter beach
knowing he is preserved
in the ice that froze his bones
and heat the cup in the warm sand
because it is too cold
then you will sit and stagnate
in the decency of past indecencies.
Muslin
(for days like this one)
(by Devin Cutler)
The day begins.
This is how it starts.
The day ends.
That is how it ended.
Nighttime comes and goes
with nothing but lust
and a kiss on the cheek
little more than patronizing
the daylight virginity.
This I can handle.
Night to Day to Life to Death.
But the grey comes
like wandering silence
between them all
and filters into my cigarettes
and enters my body
making us damp
and cold and fuzzy
in the warm air.
And we all become muslin
in a golden doldrum dance
we sing our drudgery
moaning for Day
moaning for Night
hoping for Life
and hoping for Death.
Divided
Line (for Plato)
(by Devin Cutler)
To know nothing
episteme
fever for thirst
for hunger of all
that forms and never does
because it always has
and has not.
To know everything
doxa
memories of shame
hunger in belief
that never forms
but is forming
because it never has
and never will.
Untitled
2
(by Devin Cutler)
Hints have been flying
like migrating geese
into familiar windows.
it's disconcerting when
wild fantasies
become hinted realities.
Things are wrong
because they're
much too right?
Prepare for a landing,
assume crash positions.
"Mommy---
must I stay like this
forever?
It's safer here
with my head on my knees
but I can't
see out of the window."
Vorpal
Fetish
(by Devin Cutler)
I
clench my hand
sweaty
around the goldspun pommel
flexing once
back into a disasterous childhood.
Sharpened flights
of a dash of sunlight
I
tongue the blade
letting drops of blood
thump tympany against my ankle
leaving footprints
as I walk.
I
drag the blade
through wisps of golden hair
and across silvery neck
with no intent to harm
only love and fetish
for the thin veneer
between precious
and perilous.
Gloaming
(by Devin Cutler)
They measure it in
miles
coming and going
like homeless tramps
soft shoe
and slipshod
through the marketplace
where vixens
with their silvered wares
whisper drops of grease
and flicker beams
down the plastered roadway
Come home
come home
to the womb
and the womb's womb
where the light is weak
but the beam is straight
and gloams itself
into a soft grey muzzle
and leaves them hanging
by their own dampened hair
En
Quorum
(by Devin Cutler)
Take a car
and split it in two
like some half-baked
lobster
and send it down the road
balancing desperately,
precarious on its
two wheels
until it misses the turn
and plummets
over the edge
where the old women
washing in the river
below
look up and wonder
and then look back down
in agreement
Untitled
3
(by Devin Cutler)
They keep it on the
mantelpiece
amongst the trophies
and family bric-a-brac
in a lead-lined box
that bumps and dents
when it gets impatient,
tired of festering
and maturing
It jumps once
knocking to the floor
a picture of Aunt Lily
who looks out
straight into the camera
with one hand on her purse
and the other in a lorry
wondering if,
after so many years
it has finally found her out.
Inner
Sanctum
(by Devin Cutler)
The chambered halls
the wassling footsteps
echo around
the inner sanctum
Breaking the silence
and walking on
toward a dark ocean
wreathed in a garland
of moonbeam/
The philosopher sits
by the crumbling stones
and skitters pieces
along the moonbeam
in the water
that jump along the floor
of polished veins
and rebound against
the altar.
A nightime voice
whispers "Science again
beware, my friend
as the thin beams
of Life and light
can touch you
in a particular way
a very horrible way
and infuse you
with security
in your fleeting streak
across sunderd skyes."
The philosopher stands
and dances once
only once
against the pale light
of the altar of Simon
and waves his hands
through the night air
and turns once
only once
and walks away
down the moonbeam
his step echoing
against ebony waters.
The
Clinic
(by Devin Cutler)
Instance breeds reaction
(fire up neurons)
(control)
(control)
Dusk comes down over the city,
a bloated eye blinking between clouds
lengthening the shadows
into sharpened edges.
The nerve darts away from pain
the body shakes
and the brain wails
(control)
(control)
Have you even seen
a burnt out building
during twilight
when the darkness makes
the lingering daylight fey?
And the brain is afraid of the dark
at what the eyes can't see
but the neurons feel
in tiny pricks of skin and emotion.
A tottered creak plays
smugly
on shadows
into a soft but rising canon
a subtle fugue
that peaks with a rat
and glowing
ember eyes
that maling
and stare
run
(fire up neurons)
(control)
(control)
Destiny (says a cool
rat's voice)
and fear.
Return to the Writings
Main Page.
This page last updated
January 27, 2004