Turn away from the resuscitations there the dream warrants the saplings, she in the lithology of life, the posies leach in mother’s touch, stands retracted in the tears from the ocean, weeping in the enchant as I feel the shame of the eventide; the last breath to the inhabited throes of the shore if swallowed… Read More Let it die.
catalpa, heart-shaped and boneyyour daddy died years ago,in redress of his mind, where I leavemy fingers on the stone,and I’ll never see him, he is just a rockhe is just a worm;you’ve been in my mindbut never knew me,I tire; deathis half the stradivarius of the birdsand their strings of gutthan it is mystifying orinboundto… Read More In mind.
Black feathers as I dreamed,do not look at me; ebony moonthe lust of the body of the shore,as nightmares, in what I’ve neverknown at all, reflect the Artemis moon;the fat, yellow moon; it’s a blood-huntto the red-hills,and a sea,cocktails of sweatdeath at the ground. There is beauty in the death of thingsin imminent dreaming,for it’s… Read More dream (returning hand in hand).
Desert, her eyes are morsels to the jasmine and roses once grown from her wrists, between the flowers in each white finger, whilst the moon falls, leaves barefoot in winter, deserved for posturing an abyss this dance, like an atramentous sea; woman to the ebb and flow of flower bedded lips to firstborn… Read More bloom.
the blackest feather in the sky chokes delirium to the stars; our bodies glaze white under the willows, and water sat her mistress of spindrift wombs, the sun fed the death tree; give our bones the wispy velvet vein of our blood, becoming mother. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: “Show… Read More blackest feather.
paraphernaliaflowers; the frozen nailsof Mars, lest I leavein lunula wombsto no death of our wormsand our licking wings;I’ve dreamt no morethan the coquette black rose,and her absinthe skin,wormwood, dead at our feet,to the insomniacocktails of phantasm,setting down the metaphysical poetrythrough my blood-flow, and the paraphernaliaof rocks, incubated with the skull-shapedhills; is it thenso ancient?the last… Read More always.
Wept in the death of Gods, darker still in the gathering ocean, with only tears that fall to them, in the red hyssop of the frost inclined to the penetralium of desire, as the ocean slips no fate by its sea song to kill empty, the abscission of leaf falls like glass we could not… Read More Planetary motion.
catalpa, heart-shaped and boney
your daddy died years ago,
in redress of his mind, where I leave
my fingers on the stone…… Read More “In Mind” Poem Published in Ephemeral Elegies.
will I drown? the wind twists, and we kiss the flowers; seize the backbone of the root, where our blood is ours. the tree trunk can’t see death; unparalleled, my father disintegrates. the sunsets are claret as they burst. the glass region, eyed by the ants, flourishes in the light by remembering; eyes, pressing to… Read More nothing left.
Overlooking the shoreline, a deep sigh forms releasing the exhaust of the day. Blowing out in the direction of the cool breeze, I scan the shore expecting something or someone, but it never comes. Looking up, the pink moon rises over the North Sea and it hits me- this spot, this arresting moment is what… Read More “Pink Moon Rising” by Kimberly Ray.
Frost labors my neck, the snake of womb in there Eastern Europe then the admonitory shores to the oneiric seize of our fruits dismembered with white at the tentacles of spring Gimcrack, exiled in arabian perfumes; shun me, music, like a stranger in the romance pollinating in sedated blood of the Sahara, in which the… Read More mad to the moon.
Death among a void, existence into the throatof the flowers; but what is it aboutthe death of verse and proseinto the saurian rocks and night of memorynot myself? Quiet as baby’s breath. The fall of manis a rarity from fear and falsity but as poetically a delusionto capture in the snow like a child;I reach to open my eyes to… Read More I leave in a deeper silence.
the moon is phallus-shaped to split leaves— are falling to my hands; throats of autumnal death, I kiss your hands. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: “What is your idea of an erotic poem? What makes it stimulating? In your own words describe the fine line between ribald and just plain… Read More leaves are falling.
with the last flower, traveled and scrawled from our mind—across the sun. the moon cracks and reddens as death comes to stardust. ebony époque hikes to the yellow tourniquets; and in-utero shells, plasma glass, her eyes are mine; maniac moon devours the limb to the stars clotted in bones/rocks. I dream between the blood from… Read More last flower.
The ilk of the starsthey flicker. Look to the shore,the ebony moon holdsthe yellowunmisted tulips of glassinto the veil of Apollo’s illusion—arbitrary dreamsgo to the red shore; it is Autumn,and I remember you. Eyes go tothe distant mountains in cocktailsof wind, and the luminescenceto the teeth on light and darkcutises of apples. To the summereventide,… Read More From my letter to unknown.
Alabaster the dissociatedMoon; a blood-hunt of my dreams,death the psychosis, torment the arbitrarymind, I dreamed of the topples ofthunderbirds, medusa-ing mouths of darkness, and finalhairs of serpents to planetaryshivers; and celestial deathof the stars, they translatethe whiteness of hills,goat-herding anesthesiain the sand-cratered moonswithin the dusty womb of Marsleft me my child-selfand I was her. Written… Read More her.
in starry death, dido falls like the star, an explosion to the peremptory mouths of sea; the sun bums a cigarette, we are morsels to her; i, alone, do not grieve, but dreams black and ténébreux fall to dissection of God, troglodyte & beast. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt:… Read More undo.
I’m ecstatic to share a collaboration that Matt and I worked on back in June for one of his Blue Turtle comics. It made its first appearance on his site today. You can check it out here. I wrote the dialogue, while Matt did the wonderful art. I hope you find it a bit humorous.… Read More BLUE TURTLE COMIX Collaboration.
Found another one of my articles that I wrote on my laptop a while ago. The title is once again the day I probably finished it; it just needed a few tweaks here and there. I really ought to comb through my laptop more frequently, but at least I found it. Heh, it really helps… Read More “30 July 2018” by adreamy1.
i am alone; the skull of rocks grimace at the clown winter. In the starry epitaph, I wash this blood from my hands; the moon is my child and the shore is a memory exiled; entering alone, it bares the imitation epithet, known as our death- sentence. Dreams atrophied like the first bite of… Read More blood on hands.