our ghosts.

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.

Modernities.

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.

out of reach.

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.

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.

Walk Alone.

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 last thought.

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.

The last mask of winter.

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.

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.