Foreverlost

A Poem by Amorette Duvannes

See author's note.

I see it kill it plain sight --

Grocery shopping, they move

From foot-to-foot, on dead footing,

A complete soundless caw,

Frozen-feathered mime acts.

Pushing their silver steel ropes

Collecting their tin-cans

And linger on the spices, dead-eyes,

A Labyrinth, keyless for decades,

They do no more, they cannot afford:

The God-given ring of goodbye,

The good be -- they smelter in the

Black shelter, zoned out in the

Funeral aisle, walking stuck,

Mindgrated. Numbed out, thumb song.

They used to chirp the chorus:

Creator head, create ahead,

And now they roam, trotting

On their kitten hooves, the Headlord

Has bound them, golden-willing.

I see it in a lucky maze when days begin --

The flat-line of their state

Rollercoasters, sunny-side,

Into the ostriched "S" in their spine,

The dead hunch: what a bunch.

The builders, the architects --

The very Gods of social state:

Sit in their yellow hats and blue cheeks,

In a cafe of five clean tables, the same each day,

Always a desk between the other

A dead-eye to a dead-eye might make a charge

That would destroy the seam;

So they sit and wait for the impending.

On the already cleaned platforms into morality

They are late into life, the dead doors

Leave them half-alive

In the world of the fully going-on,

The ash men. The chalk men.

They hunger on, ground into whiteness,

Waiting for nothing at all.

© 2014 Amorette Duvannes

Author's Note

This is a poem about when I walked through the supermarket the other day and everybody was walking like zombies and I got really frustrated because not only was it annoying for me to have to navigate through them so I could get the hell out of there, but the lack of life and liveliness in general just frustrated me, and so I wrote about it. The second half of the poem is a cafe I walk past every day where there are five tables which are cleaned every day, and three men go in every morning, sit at opposite tables and never talk. This is the same monotony, in a way -- and all of it screeches an impending end to mortality. So I wrote it up. And I made words up! No need to tell me I did that - I am alive, I very much know I did that.