in their dying, in their shadows.

In their dying in their shadows I will see your eyes. As the blood-flow             of living things, dear white shells and white bone fall into the ground, mama’s bony fingers             whiten the earth,                                     where all else fades and leaves; daddy glissades in the ice             picking flowers for us all, and soon… Read More in their dying, in their shadows.

Eyes.

Solitude arrayed in language  unnoticed in its death, as the leaves survive  the siege of winter, taloned with wounds rejoicing in the wind. In my dreams, there is silence as the flowers die through our eyes; whispers held, empty, beneath our feet of the grey stone, leave a rock  after death they exist unlike flowers… Read More Eyes.

Tyranny.

tyranny  blinded by the ghost of an isthmus, dark eyes fed upon your laugh like a poison  to surge, the chill  when you look at me; the dust of the horizon shapes cruelty. Reaped in the quiet like a violent beast as solitude precedes covering the ashes blistering on the pale shore this void of… Read More Tyranny.

City.

you’ll always be alone in the city; gone, the final breath in the icy mouths the secret of a lover, in the absence of morning and the affinity of dark at night; a fucked up dream stares left in its presence in the old city lights, warmer than the protestation that rebels against animal bones… Read More City.

You or I.

lament in autumn grief, a shadow of a touch leafing as bones; empty windows and shops, isolation of sense when there is none left for you or I, for you or I as the river leaves in the wind it is a paradox in the cold. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

Ocean.

dreams in the Sahara insanity in the flamenco acedia, I linger in the ocean floor, stripped in fertile silence as frost knows death better than I. the typhoon, the sailor it festers the dying beast of the albatross and the ocean sea. she’ll kiss the divine blue waves with fury, summoning the wind’s womb; in… Read More Ocean.

Exist.

nude into the enraptured  forbidden sea, behalf the whisper, its madness in autumn at its wake, unknown into the burial of yellow roses, in the tears of ghostly sands, tossing from forgotten sea light silhouetted against torn anamnesis these shadows of our time, in etiolated remembrance, our memories are hidden. the sanctity of blood that… Read More Exist.

Awake (Draft).

In an age                         of watching…             through a mind suffice                         in icy tombs; What word through our own,             to have finally sought                         the black star             that was the world we lived                         sleepless. And, awake.                         Drifting… Silence bare                                     on the dark mid-sea.                                                 The peony masking light… Read More Awake (Draft).

Amnesiac.

Of the April wind                         the distant perdu                         world, persists with                                     the evening sea shore conducts in sleep             the phase of light.                         There is no sun. There are no wings                                     in the abyss                                                 with black fruit,                                                             beautified in the sacrificial                                                             breath. Fall, fall.                                                 Amnesiac in the… Read More Amnesiac.

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.

April.

Dirty rain Upon the feathers; it is April, Among the years broken in winter When it was not winter, And we could not have been alone; This is where we dream And it is where we no longer relent In sorrow and regret; The teeming of ice chips Beneath our feet—moved like blood, We occlude… Read More April.