red moon’s peculiar night climbing a cricket eye; Lazarus the dead, fingers of the moon colder than the dust of a poet I leave to hide my wind-wept ghosts, and plead to the shattering in star-death to star-death; I fall, dying, broken off the spore like mold. a charred moon's vining velvets winding around the stem of a crystal flute, a wasted land, the headless scan seeds raped the outsides frosted on love's eyes, please peel the crickets from this bed of off white lies like I tried, then go Lazarus the dead resting from their tinder boxes and give me back my head before the bullet holes and i feigned self-control, +++ find refuge in a dead tree, the after-breath of a star, dissolution, in disunity, fangs deep in womb's darker fruits, +++ take me away, let me breathe alone, trust i'll float in a storm's dust, the infant midst night's wiser stars, i'll meet you wherever you are. ++++ undress my undead bones, insomniacidal, in voice tone tragic, is it not, in the ossification of mother’s womb and stirs of despair, conjure nothing but a dream? Ghosts of lovelorn, prophets, incinerate me in a tomb of your Lazarus eyes, and you, you can take the head out of my mind; and in my dreams, take the child, I was her, ever chasing her for touch. dissolving in threat of a bloody moon, unphased, chew the scent of the ethereal abyss waiting, in our duplicity, have we lost our minds instead? I don’t know: a dead fool is better than gold. Dust motes meet the dead ghosts; our oasis drowns and in whispered breath, I see the autumn lichen swirl into fresh cocktail of winter with a candle path lit to the stars. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved and Grumpy Gorman (GG).
A poem collaboration between me and Grumpy Gorman (he’s not grumpy—he just wants you to think that). We worked on it for awhile, writing, rewriting each other’s lines and adding to them as well.
Hope you could enjoy our work. Also be sure to check out GG’s poetry, he’s an artist with words and it was an absolute honor working with him.