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… Read More always.

This night.

summer, pilgrimage of the ewe; the blood sun breaks upon death— is the symmetry of the flower where an ocean throws the moon’s noose, leaving to the knot of a darker azure? dream, and you might too leave in the white rose of lips; sewn a monolith  exchanging, in perfidy, a child at the river… Read More This night.

autumn.

squander red rockalone the ladyand darknessto the tidesdislocate Apollo,to pares of boneswed to grief;I shatter likethe blue mooninto fall’s handsin the fingertipsof flowers that were not mine& ghost planetsand shiversreserved to thedeath of the apple,and baby’s dream. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for this week’s Go Dog Go Prompt: into fall’s hands.

to grief.

bare-bones / wed to abandoning in-uterofingers; the apple burstslike an appendix / and the seabreast to breast / is a mistressto the Kalahari sun/ mouthing /to my moon“death goes to the worms” / alien touch / my love has gone /threnody and dream, as if the Earth is glass /stranded / to the ghosts /of… Read More to grief.

“Humour Don’t Sell Papers” by Don Matthews.

I’ve just read today’s paper It’s full of doom and gloom Murders, killing, destruction, death Children being groomed Headlines blare out constantly SEX FIEND IS EXPOSED There’s so much negativity (The paper I have closed) Why can’t I read, enjoy myself With lots of humour, rife? Instead of being subjected to This gutter side of… Read More “Humour Don’t Sell Papers” by Don Matthews.

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:… Read More undo.

dust to dream.

dust / to the dream /flowers fall to the glass moonand her fingertips/ in the/ ephialtes /light and / cosmic touch; you tried to /ruin me / but I’m notAtë or Ares. Spume of the oceanI will not drown /you / in my threnody / war feet / burst like the applein the trench /… Read More dust to dream.

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… Read More ii.

I

I, memory, I, a membrane and ghost meronym to memory and free— I am the thorn of flowers in your mouth, and the foot of the leaf between the limbs of a small tree halved like quarters, and still dying, I, memory, I, a membrane and ghost meronym to memory and free— Ancestress of loss… Read More I