Your Eyes Constantly Stay The Same

A Poem by Amorette Duvannes

a friend said something to me a few weeks ago and then this came along... spat out before i forgot there was ever a seed of her that existed. so i'm sorry this one is so forced.

I have died once for every Winter,

Wilting like an African lily,

To come back when I am wanted.

Aren't we all just ghosts of each others pasts?

We, sisters, spit Latin at lovers for their fiendishness

We, brothers, lasso the throats of state buildings mammoth,

Pirouette for the victory, an axe to speak our

Speeches for us, alas! I was once told I was cold.

Central heating has always been external.

Feathered in dusk, soft as splitting rays;

The dynamics of philosophy are spelt with a

Rolling of the tongue: el. el. el. el.

I sweep with bronzed ebbing at my foetus,

I scare my peers because my eyes are always the same

Diadem of grey, overwhelmed moon of England.

I touch the tongue of my teeth with my lips

Hurricane Guillotine side-steps her penance

Warding off with humble duality, fingers

Twisted into bouquets, lover, lover,

Take me at ease, my knuckles are plates for them now

To rest their endurance on the surface.

They exist on the core now,

I crescent once a month, quarter twice,

And they take bites from me periodically.

I smile. They do not notice.

My eyes do not widen. Nor do they loosen.

I spindle, dwindling fingers,

Extracting pity but never mercy--

My head-lights are a blimp in the sky

With a hole in it's wing,

Do not sing, do not sing,

But it is all I can do to uphold myself

And not to bargain away my player's chips

Were I not what I most evidently am,

The rook of me would unhook it's daunt,

And I would flee like a flock come to call.

Were I said to be all you say I am,

May my eyes fall loose of my umbilical chord,

My child's, and yours, and fall loose

Of the prohibition.

I am engraved to hear of your revulsion, sorry state,

Queer man, your time will come.

© 2013 Amorette Duvannes

Author's Note

my head is banging from having to force this out. i do not want scholar-ly critiques. i want humans with opinions and feelings. if i extracted those from one of these particulars, i have done my job, and i can never write again. (though i am not a good enough human being to abide by this promise). so yeah. human opinions.