Category: Prose

she loves you.

vanish.trade.rocks. in sanguinolent dances we tradeour flowers for knots of the moon,cracking until the leftover asylum of poetryturns and explodes in our veins, Let it be the tongue of rocks, whereserenity will […]

la mausoleum

Perfume loring, turning and hedged to the skulled moon. It was a death-sentence oneiric to the autumn. It was symbolic as the little boy put his dirty shoes on my guitar case […]

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 […]

à minuit

the boney moon, dragged by hibiscus over the red hills.Your moth wings baby-rattling the drowning of the stars, the symmetry of our skeletons for asylum; the moon, she finds my darkness by […]

In mind.

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 […]

Let it die.

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 […]

bloom.

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,     […]

blackest feather.

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 […]

always.

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 […]

mad to the moon.

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, […]

I leave in a deeper silence.

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 […]

leaves are falling.

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 […]

last flower.

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, […]

From my letter to unknown.

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 […]

her.

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 […]

undo.

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 […]