Some.

Fossils in our bed, furcula
in throat, splayed a drowning
lest we know; ancient hibernations

anamnesis ribcaged
rigor mortis yawning; poisoned waves
beneath the creel and sects of
our darkened sleep

zeppelins
on triptych plains; a fear of water
and people; the surf rattles
in damp winter.

pet virus
drunk, jumps on each leg
like around the skull
of a tree; we choke
on wishbones, we can’t outlast.

© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.


First published in Volume Eight, Chapter 1 in Visual Verse Anthologies.


7 thoughts on “Some.

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