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whitney duvall

Whitney DuVall lives in Las Vegas, has been writing for approximately 10 years and is horrible at biographies. these poems have never been previously published, at least not to his knowledge. If they have, and he is unaware of it, he apologizes and realizes there will definately be some explaining to be done by whomever published them without telling him. he has been published in several anthologies, as well as in a magazine entitled "Faded."



She used to be Chelsea
Laced to her knees en Pointe
Spinning in and out of herself
Curls and eyes of innocence
Swimming in folds of silk
Dancing past indifference to feel
But now she has fallen
And Chelsea is gone
While black ribbons tied her up
Shards of cobalt sky caving in
Slicing her innocence to shreds
Aging with ripened sentience
Until she is no longer a swan
Draped in powdered feather
But a grounded sparrow
With speckles of detachment
And no song to sing


My demons have come out to play again
Awake in his absence
Just another woodsman
To add to the line of insufficience
Every time stringing me up
For a heart that needs to love
And each time I go back
My neck more bruised and scarred
Begging for resurrection
Just a sip, a taste of that which determines my demise
While wolves wait patiently
For the next time my heart is hanged
And I'm ripped and torn apart



Earth ashen
And we thought she'd be okay this time
But delicate bodies can never quite lace themselves up
Tight enough to keep time out
And she'll miss you like a record with no groove
And you'll watch over, inward on her tragic soul
Slowly away
On the mirrored floors of dusk
On the wilted face of alone
Keeping her at such a distance
There can be no comfort given
No little girl lives here
No light left in her eyes
Only ashes
In late winter nights

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