hours 

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I see those mottled photos, ornate albums

of yesterdays yellow sun

Of swollen women, dream-like, in a lavender field.

They leash their arms around an oval-shape

becoming empty; the shape deflates, the air comes out like water.

It starts to breathe it’s own small breath in the shape of a person,

someday a man, a woman, sometimes swollen, sometimes

stiff, stark, or bleeding.

Seeing those photos one day,

your nose has memorized leather and tobacco flower.

for her, it’s dr.pepper, Disney on ice

the coty musk she never knew she had just inside the pi of bone.

 

samantha lucero 2017 ©

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my scent, not his scent,
but by some changeling blood
could spread the same smile
on halloween. on christmas
waking up in blankets
it didn’t fall asleep in.

there’s bricks that hold down a red
bottlebrush flower from 1994.
remember,
she called you honeysuckle,
and thought rats had no bones.

i remember
my small hand in his
big glove, rough inside
like sand paper. old yellow leather in
a white truck stuck together
with luck, cigarettes in a soft pack,
right in your shirt pocket, next to the
heart in my hand, in your glove
in a warm cup of coffee,

i could live on that smell and skip
meals for the month of
october.
just the memory of it,
and the dregs of
california pain.

i could armor myself in you.
live in your flannel and die.
carve a valknut in my chest
over the hole where no light
can get in.

but you’re the one with
the valknut – you’re
the one who earned it.

through a violent death,
but you’d want the cross
instead.

“these violent delights
have violent ends.”

scorpio.

scorpio.

scorpio.

 

samantha lucero 2017 ©

your hair that traps her

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you began under the skin,
a squeezing-hug swanning
in the dark red.

you dreamt in amniotic blankets
shifting sinuously in white noise,
soaking into your veins and
never fleeing.

you can still hear it whisper.
sewn into her smell,
the woman you dreamt in,
but punctured,
holding you tight, yet letting
you keep slipping
ringing in your ears like the lunar
mewl of stars.

do you remember
your mother at 2am squinting
at the kitchen table. a skirt full
of aged milk leaking through
a face that touches
the walls of your mind.

she was silk back then,
not the splintery thing she became
when too much life, like too much
smoke, or too much wine
had tunneled underneath her
black eyes.
had bore a hole and let in
ghosts.

you were a note in the ribs
perfume on paper,
the charmed sense to wake up
with the sun, and lie down
with the moon.

she hears you down the hall
in her heart and jolts awake.
it’s your melody of a scent that
never leaves her head.
your hair that traps her.

always listening
when you’re asleep, through
walls and dirt and
stars.

and tonight,
ringing in your ears.


 

© samantha lucero 2017

‘Far From Any Road’ – Collaboration II – S.K. Nicholas & Samantha Lucero

Sudden Denouement Collective

When I looked into your eyes that time not long after we first met, I told myself that if I was given the chance, I would go ahead and do it. And such a thing would really impress you and make you want me even though I was just a zero.

Because the black light has been here since the beginning.

When I first discovered what you were in the early hours of the morning while drunk and on the brink, you reached inside of me and brought me back. Sounds melodramatic, I know, but before I found you it was as if I were the only one and that being a zero was all I was good for.

And it’s been burning a hole for so long.

When I swallowed what you had to say, I found a truth that had been denied me my entire life by those…

View original post 1,160 more words

It’s no comfort – Samantha Lucero

© Samantha Lucero 2017

Sudden Denouement Collective

It’s no comfort knowing that you’re buried,
deep down, taking earth around you
like blankets that fall apart and crawl.

But seasons still disrobed like actors
backstage in a play, in front of
everyone. Even with you
gone, the world moved on.
And I watched. We all did.
Forced to watch, without you,
with seasons pouring the years
between us in vanishing old flannel,
smelling like Salem filter kings,
soft.

Spring grew through us both
like a blade.
And you died in the summer.

A diamond in that box
they buried you in, deep down,
where you fall apart and crawl, too,
by now. Still waiting to be proposed,
like the plan to go back to Santa Fe.

Sometimes I wait for you to show,
maybe at the movie I go to alone,
sitting next to me when I peek over
in the flickering dark.
You could come around a…

View original post 104 more words

FLORIDA – Samantha Lucero

© Samantha Lucero

Sudden Denouement Collective

let sleeping dogs lie
or if they’re in florida
set them on fire;
let them die.
speaking of the plentiful
imagery of the world
i am the melting ice. i am the gun
on the dashboard to Savannah
for the 4th of July.
i am the word speak
now, or forever hold
your pieces.

for rent: a popular swamp,
far away from the highway.
a tongue left behind with a
womb-scent, a piece of me
in the toilet.
and the dog,
always barking up
the wrong tree.

like mottoes, mildew
crawling up the walls like arrows,
climbing down.
point me away from
the fingers they lick
in prison for nicotine.

they live in a dishwasher so they can
put roaches on my eyes instead
of coins when i die;
this is where he laughed,
where he made me into wax.
they check in, but
they…

View original post 216 more words

hate the living, love the dead

I was blue on that blue moon
Or was it the wolf.
Where I was like Virginia or Sylvia,
howling with rage and gloom.
And death was there
And she was digging out as I was digging in.
I was the infant in the woods
dragged away.
The creature hating its creator,
But unlike the creature, our creator is obscure
we cannot hunt him down and ask him:
why?


© Samantha Lucero 

‘ This mess we’re in ‘ – Collaborative – S.K. Nicholas & Samantha Lucero

recent collaborative with S.K. Nicholas.

Sudden Denouement Collective

   the lights are always on now, no one ever sleeps.

   i am one of those dreamless alien lights; one of those nobody’s cradled in the teeth of a high-rise window. my building’s a fang that pierces an eye of god. i loved you more because you turned away from me.

   i stare at my reflection until i become the memory of you; until i am become death and stones in pockets, and the formless outside in the velvet dark. you, the ghost that rushes in the corner of my eye, the reason i wear lace when it rains. i’m trying to read your mind, wherever it’s gone, but i can’t. i try to unearth the sandalwood smear of you on my walls and in between my fingers, but you’re not there. i’m not there either, not anymore.

   and so i’ll go to the hudson where they…

View original post 1,012 more words

EMILY

i was once obscure
like food stains under skirts
or a film of oil on a flowers tongue
but i grew to be a bigger blemish
like a birthmark on gods face
until i had to hide away
so no one saw

death had come on many occasions
and i, the greeter at the door would grin
but i was not the company he was looking for
when i’d invite him in

thus i watched them all march out
my loves; one-by-one and fall to ash
and still i, never being the one sought out
began to wear white instead of black
to mourn; no coward soul is mine,
in hopes he’d never return.


words = samantha lucero 2017 ©.
photo = emily dickinson.

old friends

slay the beast
that like a dissolving silhouette
roams at the corner of your eye
leaves when you walk to it
stays a friendly whisper
in your ear
on your weakest,
ugliest days.

find the piece of you that’s rotting
(we’ve all got one)
hunt it out,
                     rip it out
before it makes everything else
around it decay.


words =samantha lucero 2017 ©.
photo = tumblr. aka, you tell me.