If I was the poet with a thorn in my side, I was; I brought another drop from the gardens on these hands and this body of stone; I ripen in her arms I bleed in the wind to hide like a coward; the moon-born bedsheets call, twisting vines in the thorns of youth until [...]
Tag: dverse
Two moons.
In two moons, a pseudoknot is in my blood begging to close about my last breath it wasn’t the echoing of gargoyles in our death-beds wandering our roots taken more by wiles and gutted solstice endless in your eyes I know you’re killing me © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse quadrille [...]
Catastrophic.
Lauren grit her teeth, trying to ignore Artemis. Of catastrophic darkness, she could see eyes watching her in motion. She sank into internal refuge as the shadows held the branches above them.
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
bliss or suffering.
Phantasmagoric red gold, last breath to bind them or myself–I’m not sure; a shadow is a shadow then so am I until I vanish into the winter of the bears, I ask that you do not find me; I want to be played by tragic lutes, the first scene like the half of bread the [...]
Ultima.
"For the listener, who listens in the snow, And, nothing himself, beholds Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is." – Wallace Stevens, The Snow Man.
The Island.
“And what else after? Some cinnamon pie? A nice Moscow mule? We can’t have those luxuries here so I don’t owe you shit except survival.”
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 [...]
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 [...]
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: [...]
Three Raven.
God’s moon, leavetakingfrom the garden, the wildling from its fruitI’ve killed; like the moon without its stalkedwinters, I cannot behold reconciliationof two silhouettes; the phone-line I cutstill lures my name. in the echoes of the orange orchard,perfumed in late air, eyes known the moon;this stone willnot vanish, I could thoughinto disconnection, knowing thenof gods writhing [...]
in one key.
flower-envyingthe day of the seafor dance of tragedy in one key bleeds, the rootand laz crawls like a dandelion. shame, shame of the gardenborn naked; wastrel-limbscrawl rain,winter of pearl sinkingfeet poisoning againa bodybreaking their wispsand bones, come leaf, god forbid if I meant it,lies the stone where i lookthrough dooms of starsand fragility of love [...]
eyelids.
eyelids and a lie i stare the way footsteps slip in winters etcetera of the garden; the most frail are knifed apples of eve in my hands roots faces I hid because I’m a memorial now not the child with arias in my bones © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: [...]
under any flower.
this is not a letter to myself quickly the moon is forever i say that sometimes these ghost fingers reach to wind the strings and twist the whitecaps upon the bridge; i sit at midnight famous blue raincoat on my lips, a thunder squirms into my body of stone voice nothing, where I [...]
Death is no sailor.
A voice of an ancestressfrom slightest memory, I,my ghosts on branches of April,like mice, we speak; between fingers of solace-drunkin the hills I found a voicebroken through my body, the sucking of black dressesin the wind, trees swoopingfour bones holding each other,we are holding hands, emerged a moon-maidenslack against my skull—trees mix in bloodshot starsbillowing [...]
still there.
This the sea, their shadows in madcap deaths; where is the garden beyond the moon, which leaves a ghost that I once knew as myself? I sway between finger and root; small hands desert me in memory free, I am not the skinof your lip, tree,and I am not looking now to be dead and [...]
Medusa.
O she is a Sweeney dreamfrom dead ghosts into winter’s fast,beckoning duplicity Give me a danceto breathe in bloodline’s nursed moando not stare, darling Medusa, my distress,teeth slaught in seawater, howlingin waves as I dream and I billow from the earth. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: "Let us write [...]
Faces.
Death’s weir from the mammoth faces we know, spuming dead ghosts into the sea. My mistress winter feasts her bones, to starve on the tongues of a storm; lips of Janus will part like Eve to the python’s words; o’ then in innocence who else if then would have a rib torn to kill Loneliness, [...]
and a half-cigarette.
the sea barrows in half-cigarettes, burnt in untombedwords, as I spin liesto the dust father made before I left to my ghosts atop the tearsunder the moon. Soon, soon I will lay among the stead, the fleshpulled back to its sanctum of blood; the grave cavelike a hood made of white petals atethe sun and [...]
