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,     deserved for posturing an abyss  this dance, like an atramentous sea; woman to the ebb and flow  of flower bedded lips to firstborn […]

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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 our bones the wispy velvet vein of our blood, becoming mother. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: “Show […]

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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 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 […]

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Planetary motion.

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 […]

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“Pink Moon Rising” by Kimberly Ray.

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 […]

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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, exiled in arabian perfumes; shun me, music, like a stranger in the romance pollinating in sedated blood of the Sahara, in which the […]

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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 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 […]

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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 your idea of an erotic poem? What makes it stimulating? In your own words describe the fine line between ribald and just plain […]

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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, plasma glass, her eyes are mine; maniac moon devours the limb to the stars clotted in bones/rocks. I dream between the blood from […]

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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 you. Eyes go tothe distant mountains in cocktailsof wind, and the luminescenceto the teeth on light and darkcutises of apples. To the summereventide, […]

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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 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 […]

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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 dreams black and ténébreux fall to dissection of God, troglodyte & beast. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: […]

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“30 July 2018” by adreamy1.

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 […]

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blood on hands.

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 […]

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footsteps in the sienna.

footsteps in the sienna, the lemon glow; Paris cassocks into the green sea, I dreamed in the meronymy of faces I could not have known; I radiated from the appareled sun in black winters, tired of the tumuli, the red epistles with inkstones, the flowers of a death sentence, and a sun that settles over […]

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Worst Sentence Challenge Results: All Entries Posted.

Worst Sentence Challenge Order Received: Matt Snyder: “Ewe said bah to, hell with sheep; shearing last I heard?” Unknown: “I written good my entirely: life, “so” dont tell me perhaps , I knew more than I, not you or any one!” Note: Above is what I culled from Matt of what someone wrote to him. […]

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my flowers do die.

my fingers trace / against the stone my flowers do die; ephialtes / in the shadows of / a deathbed / baby’s breath / a dream / threnody / & breast my flowers die in my garden, / mouthing / pseudo-ashes of the moonrise. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. This piece was inspired by […]

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ii.

i. black coat / I see death / in the moon / and hawks nest / one worm / New York drinks the flowers, I could imagine, if I ever had a dream it was not like this / bone split open and blooms / ii. it’s the snow, it’s the / cold / two […]

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Five A.M.

my own deathvineyards of moons,a shallow depthof the sea, Venus sinks,I drowned and criedin my sleep, died like the ocean,born in splitminds,like the magentaof mother’s womb; a vortex of nothingfair and bonyfor the ghostof mine does not grieve these amputations of mind;absence of the moon’s bare-bones, I see the lizard limbsof the moonrise as I […]

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