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 go back to 5’3 lady / of the marsh I … Continue reading lady of the marsh.
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in womb, the fingers of tree an ancestress trunk in sects of strife, as born and lived through roots like fossil teeth, pressing to death’s bouquet in November’s winds; shackled in ebbs and flows, mosaics of flattered seas are astray, where they are now writhing for their shamed skeletons; they are conches swayed, rocking for what never existed. I drown into the ancient mist, mouth … Continue reading death’s bouquet.
The first chip in the axeis in the ebony winterfingers craving on the freshvein of apples,madness, an old wine, the tender briarof the moon and drunkmorpheus to a shorethat never bleeds;seduction to the redstrawberries / naked insanitiesto veiled black feathers,we’ll not waitfor the moon to commit suicide.Have our tombs,six months in winter,six months in spring; you handsome devil,there is a dream impregnatedto drunk poetry and … Continue reading You handsome devil.
God fish-lines death, warming beast of waves, congeries of suffering, and it must burden the toxins and sprawlings of the moon; it hung a neck upon the curragh becoming wraith, it will desert the bloodline it came, paws toned to grass, father beating a shovel into the ground; breathes, a hierarchy of blood, in absence of stone, her ghost ranks to the sire of madness, … Continue reading never a tear shed.
Oktavia stood against the light. Nightingale hums simulated the room, a shape of blood lotus forming out from her palms with a pop. There is nothing behind the wall except a space where the wind whistles, and the dead body of an engineer. Her father. Oktavia inhibited Elizabet by pulling her close, the depth of her scent inhaled like a coiling python ready to eat … Continue reading Subjugate.
centuries dead moonpretty ladies on the streetby death, clothed withwhite snow; winter’s blue waterfingers in stardust, snitching ice redhingingas though I had seen, dearest,your physiognomy of spring,moved in black craters; (like tall roses),whisk, whisk,swaying a face, sun gardenedand unlike, cleaning osprey eggs.try beyond,do not turn from me,twitching your oceanid weeds,in symmetry twistingshyness in ice, eyes like elk,your little hands, moon, oaklies in somethingof the tree. … Continue reading do not.
No use for the forget-me-nots my fingers are frozen on the congeries of madness, please do not find my duplicity; through veins darkly, my pet virus born twirls the tribe of aurochs— but even then it could not embody an unbridled death to her bosom, we doth part, legs dither, heart ungrieved; if shyness shamed the oceans slaughting a bag of bones, it lain a … Continue reading she takes.
Void gnawed at my guts teeth that called my name Pale heat of foreign city such nights sighed tears – where Bone Fishhook moon throws silver knives Stabbing heart Violent Eyes Rude hands Absent manners Prejudiced Minds Baby Fingers tickled deep in womb Mindless Terror and desperate longing Though Void’s emptiness shielded love The … Continue reading “Castle of Devils” by M Jay Dixit.
slumber, my fingers pullover mind, a drowning of us,an open dance, mindlessness evermore; winter’s wounds deny, disown madness,it is afar from where we left, grieved,the salvation into the abyssal tonguealone, in thalassic sway whilst we are fools of happiness. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: Write a quadrille (a poem of EXACTLY 44 words, not including the title) AND include … Continue reading fools of happiness.
Death, you are a restless spirit. Look at the moon. Two hands against the glassthe stentor sea is a violent thing, and she walksinto a dreamt-away night, tumescent and spilling; the moon watches on with cackles and sambas of her own,O’ moon, let your daughter, pithless, step into the world; The rock builds sand; tendons are red covering the garden bones,your perfume blooms, how could … Continue reading death, a restless spirit.
She lowered her head into her hands. Her thoughts soon drifted back to Tom; what he had been through these past few days, how he killed Zargaff.
She now understood how callous she had been after he just took a life, and not even that, he watched Zara die. Her breath hitched when she stared back at Artemis.
She had been too impassive. Now she thought she understood.
Lauren felt heavy breathing against her neck, the tired limbs of Artemis lain at her sides. Continue reading Novel Collaboration (“Identify”): Chapter 7 Part II.
As the breeze that had chased me across the dunes grew quiet, I gasped at the beauty of the scarlet twilight as I stepped on the beach. Rain from that morning made the amber sand soft and comforting as it covered my toes, like slippers. I knew that I only had a few moments, and I wasn’t going to let anything sour my mood. As … Continue reading “From Across the Sea” by Tina McFarlane.
All Hallows Eve, the cat does liethe divan comforts him; night entwinesmoon whispers in labor, duplicity’s lips are cruel,he stares in penitential innocence, you fool. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Continue reading All Hallows Eve.
peyote ripples uponmy father’s hands,I horde my poems in the melismaof my bare bones within the arboretum and the vagary of the moonshe nocturnes this feeling of death;it’s early winter and the sea girlswormhole into the seato drown; algorithmicthe mirror purports I writ my ghosts in the looking glass,this rite of amnesia, I’ll die in the seafor I am her child, and she gives me … Continue reading The sea girls.
Lauren set up a fire at the site, grabbing a couple of more logs to throw in. Tom watched at a distance as he kept looking back at the camouflaged tents in the woodlands of the island, and biting his lip, he watched as the smoke tilted into the sky as a signal.
She caught up to him. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. I set it up, and we can leave.” Continue reading Novel Collaboration (“Identify”): Chapter 7 Part I.
Baby’s breath into the elm tree, a strange lady in rose heels, she is the crypt for there are no dreams; arresting, like death, to the apple–the serpent’s rictus; with the body of the shore in vogue black moth wings / the moon tires to itself in half-living, half-death, the atrophy in dissolution undressed. Yes, undress me and see me; twisted fingers darken the sanguine moonblue … Continue reading Sanguine.
Wrist in the woodlanddying alone inmarcescence © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Continue reading in the woodland.
the corvid rises from the yellow moon,wept to a body of death, dismissal of its heartbeat to the atramental starsof unbidden dance; I know how this goes,I’ve been here before,slipping out of one’s own skin; it was memoirs hung by wings,by the man’s madness; dither nowor die in memory. The moon shall forever watchas reprieved temporarily, the misremembranceof the egg we asunder, pierced by the … Continue reading mirrors.
death is a red coquetteon your father’s fossil armits abyss forgotten and ungrievedinto cosseted veins of poetry,but words mean nothing to you; yellow dreams wept in her darkness,and caitiff of mirrored dust, and bone consumedmoon-wept death in the waves andfingertips of black lilliesnulling marrows in epicediumof the bear’s wintered hibernationthe seasons that sail the sea-skullsof saints against the tumulus sands; I’ve written letters, ghost of … Continue reading I am a ghost to you.