There&rsquo;s a world
and it wants you;
still, I know
how to hide you.
On a ridge, we look down
to the grasses, see the grasses flow and
hear the sound
of my breath on your clothes,
and take hold of my strength,
before we jump,
before we meet our fate.
There are traces in the sky of what I mean.
Anything you&rsquo;ve lost I&rsquo;ll find it;
anything.
Take your home-grown soul
and plant it in your spine.
There are no more worlds
except for yours and mine.

a lullaby for us lonely

I found God, 
sitting on a hill of feathery sand 
in a foreign land. 
Noticed the sky was following Him; 
granite-pink ground and His black hair. 
Of course, I asked Him what was wrong, 
nonchalantly 
licking my lips, 
yearning for His 
flashing of eyes. 
Only He sat so idle now, 
rubbing ink on His wounds. 
Yesterday they were bleeding 
over His astral thighs, 
unthinking. 
Exquisite sharp features pressed, 
sweltering against His palms; 
the palms swinging erotic at the sky, 
oh, that is why it comes, 
noble blue.

coaxing the sky

Ex nihilo on an infant stage,
a circus clown groupie
half my age,
a tender apocalypse melting the clouds,
a sorceress quaking
in narcolept shrouds,
a volcanic concubine beating you starless,
a quilted insomniac
greedy and parlous,
hawking some prints of a haunted tattoo,
making love to my murderer
as a thank you,
twitching out poems with seizure-esque ire,
salacious and sullen in
phone-tapped desire,
selling my soul just to buy all of yours,
eating the plastic off
dumpster-lined shores,
a goddess all flailing in rainbow-flanked snares,
your mistress depleting you
of all your wares,
a ribbon, a tilt, a depraved fairy's wand,
a moment, a seamstress, a tiger,
a blonde.

i feel like…

I built the Puma Punku,
with basil-scented fingers,
lemon thyme-scented hands,
working blue yarn across needles,
or ancient drills into granite.
I curl up inside a handmade quilt,
triangles, pyramids, grooves;
I chip at andesite with diamond hammers,
and lift boulders with my
megalithic mind.
I slide the pieces together,
like the loops of a blanket;
walls and temples.
I curl fabric and cities into being,
with my eyes closed,
the quiet rush of creation,
the silken hush of a life
taken,
and constructed up
again.

knit

Bury me like the Pharaohs,
a pyramid tombstone,
my heart now at rest,
no more need for bread.
Look up at the stars,
that is where I am flying,
with gods,
I,
a god,
up and over your heads.

near

I watch your hands as you paint me
into your walls and unmentionables.
I seep into them like water,
like apocalyptic dye.
Your hands, smudged so beautifully,
bloodied with acrylics; improbables.
I look at them and I falter,
I'd like to give them a try.
Use all your languages for me
until we are raving Unstoppables,
clinking glasses at an altar;
for we are the best Most High.
I love it when you don't look at me;
instead, keep sketching impossibles.
Don't call me Ishtar's daughter;
go ahead, tear down the sky.

Georgia Lundeen

a lullaby for us lonely

coaxing the sky

i feel like…

knit

near

tower

Georgia Lundeen

Selections from "spare"

a lullaby for us lonely

coaxing the sky

i feel like…

knit

near

tower