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
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: [...]
am i a treebetween the earthfledembraced a dying thronefathered in my blood,stalked and eatenby the moon’s brigade,a kiss to the sun; a finger in the rainto la moon, i see I, and if the rosesaxethe tree,would I have dreamed of this,i woudn’t know © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
I knelt down of dreams, of seas for reaping digits against the tree-barkin absence of the moon’s tongueof Janus—sprawled out to thewails of shyness; father of bones,do not come back for me.yet I hide from my dead ghosts as they abandon me to the streamblood-relenting to the tides,idled upon the roots of a shyness bare, [...]
the dark slithers, betraying the scarlet moon into the mellifluous hunger in each haze, a new mother of spring, the hills, the silence of untiring wanton blood broken between each finger and bone, nesting in the shadows in immense maddened breath across the perennial wound that dispels with the rain and alluvium struck with the [...]
ancestress, she is deathin Saturnidd cocoons; what to be donein imitation, magnetized of blood lotuscosseted in her veins;dead fathers are hard to talk to.Oceans writhe fox-skins of fossil, slumbers starved,and weave nigh stone to kill the daughter first. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Original draft: choking magnetism,dead fathers can be hard to talk to, [...]