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Vivienne’s Flowers

Sunshine corpses littered in candlelight novellas, their little daydreams a figure of

salvation for those brought better on minefield than their own house

Rings of cardamom and plum sugar lustere in the presence of a culture, birthed by fear

and cryptic in reality

I blow the smoke from my tea, its succulent mist, flourishing my face with her memories

Sunlight drying the porsche of my paintings, each figure a luminosity between seances

of night and day, gingerly tended love and sermon hate plotted with the illustrations of a

dozen oldest sisters

The cutting of words against a heart, a six- are old memory

The blueberry cake shared in the fore springs of barbie and her friends

The sweet -minded worshiper in bloody cavalry

The dance of sunlight destinies mustered by the sky to the moon in human tattoos of


The frozen Appalachians of green grass I cross every day, its green rays a polished

dewy mirror of progressing nostalgia

The sweetened hands after its filament of sittings have been surpassed, the catatonia

of mindless whispers upon the adventure of a season of examinations

The timeless rubber bands etched in my mind, its strings being a violin of emotions

after my examination

I grew the daintiest of mysterious in daylights of frozen spring as I venture into forgoing


Islands Russian glossaries and bibles of companionship

Bridges of lordships and lady dresses, rich camouflagic words, enticing like a forgotten

wedding bell, its candelabra thoughts and summer honeymoons an escaping crisis

Ribboned hair buns against velvety couches, lending their beings to a world beyond their

peripheral sight, with serpents and sirens dancing alone, with the clasp of ebony rich

dresses bleeding through hearts of healthy boutiques

Each rising earthquake an echo of a child’s unexplored dream

With carving intelligence, sharper than a raven’s soul on ties to a crown, and hell’s dreary

ice chamber soft with the dewdrop of guilt and serene remorse.

Propelled into a glass ball of liberty and power she delves, leading into her dream of

kindred Mayflower and their destiny of a new propelling inflection into a sanctimony of

conch shells and crucifixes,

the angelus in beige electrons of desired solitude with the mudras in every anklet of

peace in coral protons

the waves of cornflower psychosis wrapped in Sulphur Lilies, dancing to the success

being distributed on palm leaves on a Blessed Sunday

the enigma of a witch’s periscopic glare into her klephtic future on a molting pike being

the fateful release on the ebony bullets with the shatter of a coconut on brown soil,

wishing for a lighter spirit

the claustrophobic envisionment of mirrors rampant in the secularism in the poets of

Ghibli and Shayaris of revitalizing love from hellfire stones that bear the death of their

lover to be used as their stone for success

the materialistic urge of fearless endearment into a unknown utopian Madagascar with

the glowing kaleidoscopes on a virgin of blue and red, to be reinstated into her brown

spirit and rekindled in the test of fires in eucalyptus and jasmine flowers and flown in

the ancient thobe of red and duskan ember

For I would rather carve my anklets in the gutted remains of my past than not free my

soul’s tinkling laughter from phantoms of blue, white and yellow.

I specialize in gothic fantasy and literature. I draw inspiration from nature and female rage.

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Published in issue 5


Published in issue 5


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