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 Dec 2016 Jack Code
Duane Emanuel
The immense emotion of looking deep into her eyes.
She can see deep into my soul all the truths and all the lies.
As I continue to look deeper I continue to fall in to a trance.
Her eyes are so hypnotizing is this true romance.
The eyes of an angel is where I stare
She knows I am under her control something so hard to bare.
Her hazel eyed gaze is beyond modest.
I’m in love and I can’t help but be honest.
I’m under your control I have fallen under this spell,
It’s hard to speak my love for you neither ask nor tell
The eyes of an angel is what controls me.
Is it bad that I don’t want this to be over I don’t want to be set free.
I will never stop looking into the warm hazel scene.
The eyes of an angel can never be unseen.
The warmth and comfort I must retain,
Her stare is too powerful, it’s so hard to abstain.
Her desires are mine to fulfill no matter the demand
The eyes of an angel, I cannot withstand.
So the Violets lived
in the long shadow
of a slaughterhouse,

separated from death
by cyclone fencing
and a scrabbly yard.

In summer, family time
meant sitting on the porch
drinking cans of Budweiser.

It took about a six pack
each to mask the smell
of cow and diesel fuel,

but the rumble of semis
and the relentless lowing
of cattle were inescapable.

In winter, woodsmoke
filled the small rooms,
slowly turning the walls

the color of ***** snow.
Icicles hung from gutters,
lengthening like knives.

The youngest Violet daughter
grew up, moved to Louisville,
and became a painter of vivid

abstracts.

I have one of her paintings
hanging on a wide white wall.
I like to pour myself a Scotch

and watch the mangled colors—
brilliant viscera sullying
a slaughterhouse stall—

the smell of peat and smoke;
the taste of earth’s undoing.

— The End —