the dying game.

with summons, I sit alone; I was tired of my penetralium and id frozen in aureoled chokes, harassing me to the shadows; each eye abstract, to the phantom of stone; I snipped my garden bones of the rose-beds, felt the hidden moon into the thorns, a baby’s opus, the dying game. © 2021 lucysworks.com All [...]

Coffee Drinking 63

Amazing artwork by AuAu. The latter two images are depictions of Tom and Lauren from “Identify” an ongoing collaborative novel I am running. You can view the character profiles here if you would like to be more familiar with the main characters (and the story) and catch up on the rest of the chapters here.

Please do check out AuAu’s website and further work. They have such great talent!

AuAu Over

Work, work, work… ahg, it kills my good mood and eats my time.

I should be glad I even have it though, I dont know how it has lasted for so long, maybe its my looks. Yesterday I wrote a big analysis of my teaching work, it was a good read, but too negative so I erased it today.

They all have their projects they want to do, they struggle with the technical part, so they call me. They start well, they get excited, its finally gonna happen… until they realize that they have to study, and they have to work, and that they have to invest to some degree. Then they slowly clinch to the hope that it will be done somehow, yet it wont.

Bottom line, they dont believe in themselves, time to go back being a sheep of media.

“Yesterday I released baby #4, he was capable…

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My Beloved.

My love, as the still light shines on your lice Ah, I smell the onions matted on your breath. What else? Your nose hairs are threads to soon slice, And when I leave I thank god I didn’t retch. My beloved, a shore of love passes through me When I do catch whiff of your [...]

Character Profiles for “Identify”

The following information below are profiles about the main characters in the ongoing novel collaboration, "Identify." I recently put out a notice about wanting to create a small group of writers who can help finish this story with me. I am hoping this could gather interest for those who want to participate in this collaboration. [...]

billowing.

Disturbs in grave repentance cracking upon the ocean’s rattle, buckling swords like a python’s tongue, madness I billow in the dusk, drysalter’s poison that pierces me in battle a fool’s dance sparred, soon falling as a leaf of willow; the razor edge of fate, wearing bone and caitiff dust in father’s displease, death tantrums veins [...]

silhouetted.

suffering from topaz and featureless silhouettes in dancing tragedies; a hand from every ten in the street roots mine I pick the miracle of solitude pushing myself away from others; the garden feels my shame stones, please do not stare at me eyes they wore bliss like rain. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

undo all the ties.

from the air swallowed I fertilizegarden bones as if I would my childrenpreparing first lifeand then the subtletythe pagala death;I’m on my kneesfragmented; so, a graveI stir in my bedsheets, knowing nonethe woman in my skin or the woman I am.© 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

It will be home upon the fields.

vanishing, apparition burning upon the birth in a final scene: breathing to dying; and now nothing is visible, vines twist, a stain in the moon-eye, crisscrossing your babies and opus tragedies; it’s the brute, it’s the face of windows eyed with soot gaze pure ash; there is nothing more than flesh and bone filling with [...]

snake and seamstress.

damp upon the tree’s beckoning, my feet bleed and kiss the ground upon you, sprouting from silhouettes; it beguiles the hassock leaves, hidden in an accident of rain-fall. Without the fools in airstreams of halcyon when roots pinch my fingers, uncurling like a dagger; a bean fed from the poet’s words or buckling swords, I [...]

Silent to my blood.

silent to my blood along the bone garden I have known the women, living and dead, eyes seized the one moon, (a ghost sleeps) in my body dissociating a star at my spring bones my garden, my home a sparse death in my hair the wind. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

Orgasmical tragedy.

she slips to winter’s underclothing and embrace; as if a prowl of death in the sun’s hands is unseen to the bed of bruised gardenias. taken into stone, of the poet, the wonders of silhouettes dancing in orgasmical tragedy, hypnotically then with shared suffering. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: [...]

Novel Collaboration: Notice.

As the novel collaboration has waned in participation for the most part, at this point in time, I'm now inviting three to four people would would like to work on the remaining chapters in this story until it can reach a definite conclusion. If you are interested in participating in this project, you can reach [...]

in ashes I subside.

stalk, the shaking rain of white lies split in my head whored forgotten to snakes; in footed trees that grow from my chest crickled in the occasional drunk root, and a well-stirred death, in ashes I subside. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Be sure to join in on Ingrid's poetry party on Twitter. It's [...]

moon stunt rain.

i rise from my bed of snakes, glassy apparition, you have nothing on me; garden fingers and eyeholes i hid from: no one can get me no one can be the thief but the moon, I devour known blood of these garden thorns, the moon-stunt of your flower I see goes (and its rain). © [...]

Insomniacidal (Ft. GG).

red moon’s peculiar night climbing a cricket eye; Lazarus the dead, fingers of the moon colder than the dust of a poet I leave to hide my wind-wept ghosts, and plead to the shattering in star-death to star-death; I fall, dying, broken off the spore like mold. a charred moon's vining velvets winding around the [...]

stone

in which I am a ladyof ash and hairenclosed like all the rosesstirring I didn’t want themwake or sleepa skin touched shimmeringif I were Lazarus an opus of eyes, handsunwrap the stone © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

snowball in hell.

think I am a snowball in hell; I am a barbed leaf in the debris. I make myself empty of your words; they float on my bones