I am very pleased to be hosting an interview with Matt Snyder today, artist and writer on the Prolific Potpourri. I asked Matt questions about his background in writing and art, how he gets into his creative process and where he gets his inspiration from. It was a very enlightening experience, as well highly… Read More Matt Snyder Interview.
An epilogue of a vista in father’s ocean eyes; the echo of the dream fallen in conniption a chrysalis of fuckery at the mind-felt waves in ice welts; torturing in a quasi-silencing of shame as the wind blows the sail, riffs on the skin, witnessing the passivity of the shore in winter carver; something in… Read More For mercy. (Updated with audio recording).
A/N: Inspired by this sketch prompt. Eyes lissom, lost twinned in amnesia of darkness wrapped around the orphaned dream interwoven alone leave me alone; in transient smoke effused light and light then darkness crowned with arms around the stillness & blood-flow in droplets under the tides to the rocks at sea. © 2020 lucysworks.com All… Read More Eyes #2
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 in the enchant as I feel the shame of the eventide; the last breath to the inhabited throes of the shore if swallowed… Read More Let it die.
Stare at the ceiling, I am an afterthought, dreams cast forgotten memories in twilight’s tongue rivaling alone the silence of the world that pretends to be still, when it’s fucking not; I wake in the room alone, I intend to sleep; in weakness, the oeuvre is loneliness as it slips bloodily on begotten words undefined… Read More Forgotten (to silence).
Cecilia paused. She could never remember their names. Perhaps she is never told; perhaps she is made to forget. Briefly wondering how many have come and gone, she then decides that names are ultimately inconsequential, before lamenting sotto voce, “What’s in a name…” They are only labels. She’d been given many labels by the therapists,… Read More “Ophilia” By a.d.matthias.
In the early dark, Intermingled stirs shake and shake Between the round uncertainty in the uprooted flesh, It is mid-winter where there are blue peacocks, And ringing dunes that carry onto the bearers of ice In our face like waves, receded with flickers That are evasive in our bones with ferity Void of discovering dreaming,… Read More Early dark.
Originally posted on Lucy's Works:
When the hand lays on sights, dead, That collapsed dust from earlier time, That acceded some time beyond the winds, lead With the lining, cried at first breath. Doth the rooms that kiss the gold of night As when the mutters of veiled chance Bested the light that silence…
It is in the beige evening by the willows and a café restaurant with the golden leaves and their shards on the grounds, covered in a cleansed rain. It is in the illumination of shatters that broke beyond the pale sky that not only writhes among itself, but will be only among a frail sight… Read More Valhalla. (Prose)
As I touch the river that trembles upon my weak sunlit torrents upon a gentle lick of lilac, And I shiver upon the pale wisteria of the eventide like a wounded deer, For I wonder upon the dark lavender skies, and their cracked gentle weeping rivers That glint upon the surface below the Acrylic golden… Read More I’ll Remember.