moonglow.

Swaying in cool rootsof white, I feed the earthfrom my hands and bones;the moonglow on my skin rootsI am a tree of the debrisI eat the leaves in backdrops of the sun’sbuzz; rain does nothingto me. Between stem and finger,I desert you like a mosaic of bones. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. I was [...]

Medusa.

O she is a Sweeney dreamfrom dead ghosts into winter’s fast,beckoning duplicity Give me a danceto breathe in bloodline’s nursed moando not stare, darling Medusa, my distress,teeth slaught in seawater, howlingin waves as I dream and I billow from the earth. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: "Let us write [...]

Faces.

Death’s weir from the mammoth faces we know, spuming dead ghosts into the sea. My mistress winter feasts her bones, to starve on the tongues of a storm; lips of Janus will part like Eve to the python’s words; o’ then in innocence who else if then would have a rib torn to kill Loneliness, [...]

castles of sands.

I knelt down of dreams, of seas for reaping digits against the tree-barkin absence of the moon’s tongueof Janus—sprawled out to thewails of shyness; father of bones,do not come back for me.yet I hide from my dead ghosts as they abandon me to the streamblood-relenting to the tides,idled upon the roots of a shyness bare, [...]

In mind.

catalpa, heart-shaped and boney your daddy died years ago, in redress of his mind, where I leave my fingers on the stone, and I’ll never see him, he is just a rock he is just a worm; you’ve been in my mind but never knew me, I tire; death is half the stradivarius of the [...]

dance (with me).

all winter, their bodies of yokethe apple blossoms, like a child,waking into the sun; I see the siennarise in the kangkung flowersof your hair, the immobile, the henna; and archaic sandsin blue fibers of fields,as the moon-eyed dreamers,you and I—we’re in anamnesis of the womb,our cerise, skins to the lemon moonand velvet landscapes in the [...]

The ocean rises.

Fossil bone, a maiden’s cliffthrowing ghosts in the stalactitesthere, my ocean is there, and I will die with the thorn in my side;abyssal shadows are empty, sandstone splits at my cheek,look at the full-bodied ocean, their fish bones belowthe memorial, from so close, I can stand upon the ocean’s bosom,her white waves upon my fingersO’ [...]

Some.

Fossils in our bed, furculain throat, splayed a drowninglest we know; ancient hibernations anamnesis ribcaged rigor mortis yawning; poisoned wavesbeneath the creel and sects ofour darkened sleep zeppelinson triptych plains; a fear of waterand people; the surf rattlesin damp winter. pet virusdrunk, jumps on each leglike around the skullof a tree; we chokeon wishbones, we [...]

truly, I’m not.

to reapupon my shyness, winter’s bustsails the moon-eyewith an apparition garden,I gather by the inglenook; I’m a hermit,I billow poetries dark, in the first treethat would seem to thinkI am all these things, but truly, I’m not. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: Write a quadrille that includes the word, [...]

if I were

Reading what I have just written, I now believe that if I were to die, I will not remember any of the words I have written, nor the words I have read, how shall I tell it? The tree itself will live far longer than I. It is lovelorn, it is the red pine that [...]

and the people floated away.

A red boudoir in the earth’s ax to bruit upon her branches leaving in skull-white redress, neck covered in frost; shyness is halved in father’s seed from his to his daughter; in the cherry tree slaught with black doves arched in mad gaze, the fire flower from firethorns strayed like ossification in a pomegranate womb, [...]

Dissonance of a dream.

the dark slithers, betraying the scarlet moon into the mellifluous hunger in each haze,  a new mother of spring, the hills, the silence of untiring wanton blood  broken between each finger and bone, nesting in the shadows in immense maddened breath across the perennial wound that dispels  with the rain and alluvium struck with the [...]

eyes of the lagoon.

Father of gunmetal, fingers and sap kneeling to the blood-red of our faces from my formaldehyde Grandfather, in the black elms, a crown of sun pencils on white skin, now the eyes I find of the lagoon were treed in artichoke; father’s eyes are mine, the shore is from the foolish matriarch, babushka’s daughter and [...]

lady of the marsh.

the moon is red / shutting / the tympani of the Apollo sun and the white flux of pumice stones / and scriptures in memory of the rabbi’s palaver; i, mind of woman, made from man and woman stardust, God if believed, slug and bone; embryos of fallen fingers; 5’3 no, 5’3 and a half [...]