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 […]

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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 […]

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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 […]

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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 […]

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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, […]

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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 […]

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snowball in hell.

The death of the handthat is upset,it’s like the yellow hillsamid the oceanid-eyedthat hunt for the ghoststhey want to strangle; I was traced beside the clocka ship of bloodin our arms; the root-childcriss-crossed to the mirror; In a sea I go downwhispering in slight darkthink I am a snowballin hell; I am a barbed leafin […]

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castles of sands.

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 […]

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In mind.

catalpa, heart-shaped and boneyyour daddy died years ago,in redress of his mind, where I leavemy fingers on the stone,and I’ll never see him, he is just a rockhe is just a worm;you’ve been in my mindbut never knew me,I tire; deathis half the stradivarius of the birdsand their strings of gutthan it is mystifying orinboundto […]

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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 […]

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dance (with me).

all winter, their bodies of yokethe apple blossoms, like a child,waking into the sun; I see the siennarise in the kangkung flowersof your hair, the immobile, the henna; and archaic sandsin blue fibers of fields,as the moon-eyed dreamers,you and I—we’re in anamnesis of the womb,our cerise, skins to the lemon moonand velvet landscapes in the […]

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The ocean rises.

Fossil bone, a maiden’s cliffthrowing ghosts in the stalactitesthere, my ocean is there, and I will die with the thorn in my side;abyssal shadows are empty, sandstone splits at my cheek,look at the full-bodied ocean, their fish bones belowthe memorial, from so close, I can stand upon the ocean’s bosom,her white waves upon my fingersO’ […]

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truly, I’m not.

to reapupon my shyness, winter’s bustsails the moon-eyewith an apparition garden,I gather by the inglenook; I’m a hermit,I billow poetries dark, in the first treethat would seem to thinkI am all these things, but truly, I’m not. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: Write a quadrille that includes the word, […]

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if I were

Reading what I have just written, I now believe that if I were to die, I will not remember any of the words I have written, nor the words I have read, how shall I tell it? The tree itself will live far longer than I. It is lovelorn, it is the red pine that […]

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am I still ill?

A fissured father of stone, poisoned by the vale, a bridal’s helm rushing through the billow waves, I billow blood from the clouds, awaiting for the frost dead uncles in May with his ghost; dementing in Autumn, what wilderness flooded to the unvisited dream, the ocean’s ungues cutting through faint music like a lotus growing […]

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and the people floated away.

A red boudoir in the earth’s ax to bruit upon her branches leaving in skull-white redress, neck covered in frost; shyness is halved in father’s seed from his to his daughter; in the cherry tree slaught with black doves arched in mad gaze, the fire flower from firethorns strayed like ossification in a pomegranate womb, […]

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None.

It was perhaps disenchantmentDarling, slipping to the sea like a knife;why abide like children, a bloodlinesince dead retiring from goddammnedbones mislaid—I can barely touchthe waves; black dovessplintering in the mistakes upontheir tongues, straying firstfeigning none. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: Today’s challenge, should you choose to accept it, is […]

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Ice dark (the world is dreaming).

lie across the taurobolium at the motherless spring without feeling, without breath; pale mulberries infiltrate the wind in ice dark of obscured dreams by the sea-green void, vanishing by the surf, as the fresh dew slumbers in the whiteness of morning exorcised with twigs of the dying trees.  flicker with the nightly, strange sea, the […]

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Ionad.

Icy thorns in kestrel snow, I gather them for you; plunging ire to your still desert, stave it in illness, black lilies incite the gallows you bring into the ladies of dust if the blood oceanid parts. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: Write a poem using the PLEIADES FORM […]

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eyes of the lagoon.

Father of gunmetal, fingers and sap kneeling to the blood-red of our faces from my formaldehyde Grandfather, in the black elms, a crown of sun pencils on white skin, now the eyes I find of the lagoon were treed in artichoke; father’s eyes are mine, the shore is from the foolish matriarch, babushka’s daughter and […]

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