The Sorely-Spent Suicide

The Sorely-Spent Suicide

A Poem by Amorette Duvannes
"

This is for the man of whom my letters are all for -- and why an Art exam destroyed me.

"
Don't let me think of you, darling dear--
The quick elastic snap of my impressionability
Will break wind the minute your rags and eyes
Look into me like a bank, of superior rank--
My mouthless words come whimpering from me as if
An electroshock motel for the being afraid;
A sort of broken-beaked hummingbird
With a chord strung out by the Wind's harsh, bronzed-knuckled fingers.
For the sweated wind, tied and abridged by the forthright stare
That breaks the static line of my motion
Pulls the lips away from me and all I love,
Don't let me sit too long, stirring in my own awake light
Brewing in the silence like a puddle gazing awe-struck
By the thunderous moon -- who is not so great, who steals,
Who thieves, the morning light of the daring dear.
Do not let me be, for you, or for the candescence you provide,
A bucket of longing in your sullen drip-drip-drip.
A sweater raged for the burning amber fuel,
You call to me, leant against the cool, white paste
A casual leniency, but it is not that I know you dare
Until you follow me through a labyrinth of my own making
Like the dream you stalked me in just weeks before,
A hungry murderer trotting through the dead moss
To get to me, I reach for you in the same right, 
Dead as night -- no, I don't: I have no right.
I wish, crave, pine for you; a call to you,
The desert blue, the golden calm of my sweet labour
Dwindling, spindling -- specky little wrist, 
Drawing the words out of glue for you, killing the line of ants
To take over God from you. And I have been left for too long,
Over-heated, or left to dry, and now razor-pimpled,
Like a goose in poverty -- they let me think of you,
They let me spike my drinks with you, of you, and through you--
The deed, they say, has ripened past plucking
And I, in my last right, scratch the last candle-wick,
Dripping molten Godly gas - the bitter stake you,
Twist it into myself, the last one burning in a field of the night.

© 2014 Amorette Duvannes


My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register




Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

193 Views
Added on March 7, 2014
Last Updated on March 7, 2014
Tags: poetry, poem, poems, war, peace, love, philosophy, adolescence, socialism, ideology, religion

Author

Amorette Duvannes
Amorette Duvannes

About
Oh, aren't I silly - I'm just so silly. more..

Writing