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.
the unseen darkness and ghosts of madmen pluck the death in me with lady’s slipper petals; craters of blackberry oyster shells lay at night during winters; the red fingernails of grief, the oceania flowers drowned and in our minds we dissolve like white tombs of the moon. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. First appeared… Read More during winters.
I’ve lived as a statue, a quiet child. Overlooking the spume of glassy death— in the winds I would imagine to be like virgin snow; and in the cobalt blue of my father’s eyes, it is a glimpse of the sky in the brimming of sea to sea, ocean to ocean. Unsalted peanuts go to… Read More I’ve lived as a statue. (Prose)
Original draft. Shudder, these leaves scuffle In the admission of winter In the yellowing stillness That faces you, bleeding mindlessness; You are a fool, you are death, where eyes decipher the plea in the thorns of a mother’s tree, and the godhood in the horizon, that wept in smothered dark, alone in Elysium labor in… Read More Alive (to drown).
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.
lost in mania traffic the struggle of mind teeming with cigarettes escaping the birdsong as the dark leaves fall onto the cherry blossoms silently with bloodshed, caressed to dreams in the awakened winter, arak trees. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. A/N: Title derived from this poem.
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.
The partition of light slides upon the red, pale rocks shielded by the cluster of streams, a fossilized hue of the starlight in the refusal of blustering dreams. A mere smudge of waterlogged forbidden Arcadia—tasseling a present vanishing in exile a solemn midsummer darkness prowling the streets in your memory. A moment of sense fragmented in… Read More A dream suspended from sanctuary.
A winter sere upon ashen cypress leaves A paradise among a ghoul of wind, a fragile river, Where I, I will stay beside a midnight tomb that rose a shiver, Alas in the time!—the entombed willows illuminate the trees, And I will wake from frail calls, lonely, enkindled by the breeze. I will wake in… Read More A Winter Sere.
To Accede Into My Own Desires. II. A treatise in the eye of nightfall Severed by my tears in hope, in desire, Upheld in breadth of bell flowers, My hope arises, attested to divinity Immersed by a winter season, deemed solace, As the solstice nurses the night to dead squills. And I pray, inclined to… Read More My Hope Arises.