Let it die.

Turn away from the resuscitations there the dream warrants the saplings, she in the lithology of life, the posies leach in mother’s touch, stands retracted in the tears from the ocean, weeping in the enchant as I feel the shame of the eventide; the last breath to the inhabited throes of the shore if swallowed… Read More Let it die.

always.

paraphernaliaflowers; the frozen nailsof Mars, lest I leavein lunula wombsto no death of our wormsand our licking wings;I’ve dreamt no morethan the coquette black rose,and her absinthe skin,wormwood, dead at our feet,to the insomniacocktails of phantasm,setting down the metaphysical poetrythrough my blood-flow, and the paraphernaliaof rocks, incubated with the skull-shapedhills; is it thenso ancient?the last… Read More always.

Hellebores.

the moon kissesus both; knowingthe white tumuli of bloodat our feetis ours; in a dream,I’ve been the meronymyof ocean to ocean; I would see the black starsand their explosionsinto a sea of pareidolia but these dreamsa fidelity of bloodthe first of the blinded eyeto see the bone-white frostand thorns at duskswayed in thebroken troughof skin… Read More Hellebores.

a sea dying.

deepens / the eye / and mawkish suckle the moon’s breast to the tree and their leaf white fingers dead / to broken bone and dust to a fitful dreaming / oxbow shores I leave like the foot of a spore / and a sea dying finds me alone. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

ii.

i. black coat / I see death / in the moon / and hawks nest / one worm / New York drinks the flowers, I could imagine, if I ever had a dream it was not like this / bone split open and blooms / ii. it’s the snow, it’s the / cold / two… Read More ii.

moon.

in the echoes to the moonrise and flowers  they look like hand-bones, eclipsed into cursive cold-blooded writ; lucent dream a pilgrimed father at the seabed of darkness, his bones touch the skull-fish; the ghost of owl forgets his repetitions it holds its wings into the winter moon blood-red, it rooks the dying and the tree,… Read More moon.

trees and trees.

a foot, a foot eddies in the water; an albatross is glued to the sea with dark littered eyes and the keel sea swallows its feathers in the furrow of air, mouthfuls of offal red, red they eye, then eat; then the womb in cold echoers echoers of blood, blood sleep such a last trawling… Read More trees and trees.

Bridge.

the shadows             cover the sands, each finger             in my hand threads liana             coast blue the bodies of ephemeral god’s eye; my father holds my hand             by the rope of the bridge; it, in a sense, is remote to me as a child; in memory, it architects a mist in mind, orange… Read More Bridge.

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.

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.