Old father’s obit unwanted earth in his mouth lent the blood from his sex like moth wings drown not him, no, my father is a good man the earth not so much so it can drown; I can blame it on the dirt sucking orange downtown jewels in each grave, first, my cats then my great uncle, then my cousins where we all die this nephesh in our bodies throughout the clock tower fluttering like LA sex shows but no one is watching. I dreamt, letting death that dream of mine be a handful like whiskey her beauty, a small knuckle of land. Gates, murderous, only watch as ghost flowers sink, frail, into black crackled chiffon, into sick hands. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
‹ A heart.