our ghosts accompany loneliness… mirrors of distant memory find to the dusk like at sea a memento in a dream that eludes me and floats… Orange blossoms into Ophelia’s violets and the granitic rocks rush to the red dust for how quietly time has passed through the statuary of rock… Read More our ghosts.
isolate the modernities carnations touch the wind, mocking them, like a cigarette in the abandoned sunlight, the entropy, monstering god-like shores fragmenting ends of the mind, traversing the watery rock for the sea, the mouth left behind from the cave, teeming with blood; the mountain defines the reflection in your eyes, where have you been?… Read More Modernities.
A wish, these solitudes in dark wept, midnight exits in a dream, torturing you; emerges in oceans, as if the face of the sea-light is in a trance of wander, a dark mind urges this end of game; the half-lit stretch devours death quietly in hyacinth winter as we left; … Read More out of reach.
lonely, born in the ecstasy this root of blood; walk away into the forbidden, unmade road split and wounded, eternally with revived memory, the stranger of winter shadows into the dark planetary motion, the insanity picked from flowers will too go on as we walk away. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Originally published here. Blue fog, derived from the morning,Dancing alone in an orchard with the breeze,In a world torn with a hunt—a slow death for us all,Then don’t let us go then.We walk alone into the arterial landscape,Growing colder and older,Split into freedom, around us were roadsHungered and torn to the shaking of whorlsBetween fallen… Read More Walk Alone.
the waves in the dying of the dark by frozen, alluring dreams when you’ve never dreamt unsheathed upon each layer of rock that bleeds out by daylight where we see the blood drift, sliced in a sleepwalking geyser the dispensation of mid-summer, choked upon the shoreline ‘where have you been?’ I say, ’nowhere. It could… Read More The tree of apricot.
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… Read More Dissonance of a dream.
Rocks lay before the last thought and solipsism; Inside a frost stillness, decaying by the tree; Forbidden—the serpent’s blood betrays the bone fingers that lay upon stone. Feral. What happened? Illusory dreams are mere being. Devising a relent to emerge outside to the city, deprived of… Read More The last thought.
A leaf falls Into the monsoon shadows. I turn by the grazed branches Trembling by the dark windows Into the blustering Of frost and the muzzled crystals that lay Into the black linen on the ground. We are alone in the patters of wind, Hear; each turn of the rock, And see our hands Restless… Read More Ghost street.
The fields sluiced with rain on the leafing of memory, On each rock and scree living in the Appalachian breeze. The mind of frost crusted in the corbeil undressing in the air. Where is our consciousness? The bluster of stone streaked in corrupt minds on the last… Read More The last mask of winter.
Hidden in senses, we, alone, are disenchanted in the sleep blue mist, as an expanse of ghosts and dreams never had. Leave behind our minds, the dispensation of a white trance in the universe; leave behind the resinous trees secreting mist where no space is left. The shadows of our mind, displaced in amber, consumed… Read More Hidden.
