ritual

we were but girl-children

to the deathless moon

in this heavy-lidded woodland

eyes like soapy lanterns

twitching in the cradle-dust

still, we voyaged in

joined like dollhouse mountains

my bloodstone-sister was an untamed altar

at which they encroached, wept like ivy

unhinged men & their fresh shoulders

who would pile at her godforsaken toes

to revere, to wide-eyed pray, to boast

a ritual for veneration

that would never starve

still, she dared in

i was but a prying mortal girl & out-of-body

fingering sorries inside a waning pouch

i scooped from meat-faced vultures

dripping the diamond scent of

a grey folklore

which i bittersweetly appointed

on my melancholy own

still, i delved in

i don’t believe we ever emigrated

from the royal purple cold, unpolished wild

or the leather harness of the unclothed bark

of yolky-sun, of pine-fragrant wrangles of trees

here silver-winter comes & time to

urge patient gods to bare one more

love-seat, for me & death


words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.

sisters of the coal

 

ask the moonstone-girl about the other world

while her heart’s still in that rustproof iron

w h i s p e r

while the streets are still a red river,

apprehended in a jar

while the milk is still imprisoned

inside of cupid’s bow

ask her about that anointed chatter

in her interstellar slumber, mewling

like a gilded reliquary of jailed deities

radiating, grinning, breathing on the cosmic window

how do you tell the silverbell laughter

dangling in the nameless dark

s t o p, your gold perfume is too peeled

the lightning portrait in the hall

a triad keep of myth-children

b e w a r e, i smell your crimson

how do i tell this velvet stranger,

this primordial diamond cupping coal

that the overcast crypt survives

the bleary straggler lingers

to starve and skin her core

i want it to snow, too

but i can’t shake the world


words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.