The Ecstasy of St. Teresa
Hot flesh, smelly citrus and metal. Underflesh, blood. Smelly flesh, delicious blood, cleverly hidden under orangey-flesh blood. Metallic kisses on clever necks, citrine canines puncturing pungent flesh. Release the bloodgates, the metallic taste of transmutation. Drained in the trapgrasp of passioned body language, the shriveled lover of the little death. - C.Lucine
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"__________ is a prison."
Help! The tomb is dead. Through crystal waterfalls the woman smiles mirrors. Help! Help! In the deathtomb lilted lilies wheeze like the dust of moist rooms. Help! The tomb is bleeding mirrors and the aqueous death is space no longer filled. Help! Help! - C.Lucine Here's a poem I wrote on 1-23-16 using a "cut-up" method of chance, where I wrote down various quotes that I use with my Instagram pictures, cut the words out individually, and then drew them out of a bag one by one and wrote them down. Tristan Tzara-esque anyone?
"Cassandra" Hope, few seek out transformations. What a wonder how true one understanding. Woman am I, many my mystery. "Myrrh and lilac don't always seem of science," her says, "magic is curiosity, is a kind of remembering ...and still is. The always love is a crowded café of quiet silver." Possessed is the searching earth, the haunting guarantees the saddest happiness we understand. The hunt, Absence of will, but Saturn I cannot find the disguises that know, and still... happiness is never the unknown. The future there then, taking knowledge through knowledge, the thing for the things. A pleasure consistent, we are more attractive in their stories, and I her, the one we of possession know about. The better looking the fever, the most sparkling is her mystery. C.Lucine |
AuthorAs a Mercury driven Virgo Sun, I've always had a love and understanding of the magic of language. Take a look into the cacophony of thoughts that bounce around this buzzing mind. ArchivesCategories |