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To Pine.

But in truth,

I want illicit trysts between our lips, skin braided in sinewed sheets, coiling like a clutch of snakes in the basement of night or in the bloodshot gaze of an early rising sun.


Copyright © 2014 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved


What evacuates from a black engorged sky
What slices within an inflamed white squall
What rolls round the moor in a clammy thin robe,
sudden grey chariot chilling the globe.

What quenches salt seas and rinses their belly
What cleaves a deep vein from this canyon to that
What forces death in a Winter of artifice,
pallid snow cloak on a polar doormat.

What pummels like bullets from half-frozen clouds
What clings to the web as dawn does to peace
What floods the fields plowed drowning legions of lifetimes,
and fills mausoleums found deep within me.


Copyright © 2014 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved

Sandpaper Kisses

Sandpaper kisses, papercut bliss. I'm just a girl with featherweight curls.
Just a girl... a blood red pearl.

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Timid Is The Glassy Maid

Timid is the glassy maid.

Queer, withdrawn she slinks on pointe,
milky, weighty, solo gaze, culling stags within her maze,
she draws them near and fears their charge,
and unaware their dreams are razed.

Timid is the glass-blown maid for she in tatters still be torn,
morsels of a sacrament, a holy union still hellbent
keeps shredding at her hope (near spent) with jaws a-gnashing sprouting thorns.

And timid is the fragile maid - she a finespun thought of sweet,
but in her lurches pendulums of bone-deep pain and red night raids
of loud men barging through her glade commanding that their love be worn.

Launch a Blitz and draw your steel, file your arrows for the hunt,
cock your gun, fall in formation, heave your club and make it blunt
but when you come upon a doe and limping she be from old shots
and you mean not to make a meal of her weak breast or her frail heart...

Do not crusade her wary gaze or lurch t'ward her fine-stemmed frame,
do not approach her like a war and plunge your flag into her spine
while barking claims like 'prize be mine',

but wade instead into her depths with careful measured strides and lengths.
Stay the boisterous bleating of your ego and your show of strength,

for breathing featherweightless breaths and gentle hands that slow to touch...
will lay a path of temperance for the fragile maid to walk
and halt her leap into the briar, vanished like an ice-bathed blush.

Timid is the fractured maid, of Love scrawled, etched and burnt
into stones that sail on blind romance, spinning as they rush.
Building speed with nothing gained and hunting bones to crush.


Copyright © 2014 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved

I've Been Working On My Penmanship.




Novocaine Heart.

Dentist swigs a fistful of translucent swill from a thick, blurry bottle
and in a fit of rage sweeps a heavy ungloved hand across his tray of stainless implements.

He mutters and brays loudly, impregnating the clinical blue air with spurts of fetid breath and unintelligible denials.

She's on his chair. Capillary tributaries pulsing red in her running eyes, unable to divert the gaze, sleep, or even imagine another room in another time.

Her mouth is intact but her shirt is torn, pulled from the tight waistline of her skirt. Buttons litter the linoleum floor like technicolor sores and every limb is an old forgotten animal in last winter's rusted traps, stiff. Unmoving. Empty of life.

Skin pulled wide down the ribs, a nearly bounceless ball twitches irregularly slow in a pool of heaving blood, contained inside of a skeletal cage.

Organ festooned with a mane of glass syringes, clicking together with every bitter shudder, he abandons her, lurching from his stool.
White coat dripping red iron.
Weaving his way toward an impossibly distant door.

Left with her porcelain teeth sparkling and a chest open to scrutiny, she finds heaven in the ceiling, death in the feeling, and no point in concealing

her Novocaine heart.

Use Once And Destroy.

Copyright © 2014 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved

Early Lovers

You are my sweet seclusion and my prehistoric proposal.
You came before fossil fuels arced into the light of day
and illumination was still a sizzling pit of ash radiating in meteor skies.
We discovered the first indecency and uncovered the last offense.

Our love is a flowing spring of wine,
and hope is a seabed of rolling gold,
nestled in the glacial cold,
a sarcophagus myth which has never been told,
an addiction that we've begun to mime.

The populace clambers
rabid to survive,
and when the green marble shatters
there be only lovers left alive.


Copyright © 2014 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved

Lust of Engagement

Within my veins rage intrepid crusades
bloody conflicts fought between brick layers and brigades
deconstructing the levees as hurriedly as quarries
are dug and poured and stones are scoured and white-washed pillars are stacked and raised.

Rain retards progress while the bitter blight of war refuses comfort or a fortress.

Rusty blood fills my swollen gums, stretching wide into a ruby-coal grin
glint of metals gleaming in my eyes, wading muddy feet to muddy thighs
blunt force trauma battle cries
revel so in my sins and wins.

Rewarding me with Love's sweet dove or is the prize my rival's skin.
It won't be done until my gauntlet strikes your cheek and knocks your teeth
anew, until I cast the die, decry your loss and again begin.

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Copyright © 2014 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved

He resurrected me on Easter Sunday.

And I won't dare imagine what lies within the novels and scrolls, letters and volumes tucked between the rolled up carpets that are stacked around his planet.

Billions of empty, preserved pages waiting for saturation from a new and unsullied shower of passion.

I inch along calling out each verse...harking hard for anything beyond my echoed return.

Are You The Cure?

Truth be known beyond white skies above the reaching moon
that a truth be steeping strong within
the swell of her shy breast.

Truth be heard between rose folds, the marigolds and cherry limbs
that truth within her budding mouth
has built a deep, gold nest.

Truth be seen within the blue eternal ring of fire
that a truth engulfing all frail things
will swoop inside with blistering wings
and burn to dust the untrue things
within her eyes that dance on pyres.

Truth be felt on open palms
the salted wounds that fill with thorns
refusing to allow her hands to cling to fatal pasts and bloody casts
to tremble, wring and mourn.

And truth be told, a coursing poison
from the need she caged so long
is basket-weaving through her cells
the finality of her deaf, death song.

But mistaken is her heart
that slumbers dormant in her moat...
convulsing, jarring, leaping,
it awakens from the antidote.

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Copyright © 2014 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved

Another Planet.

I thought the words had left me for another woman and I was gradually, after all these years, beginning to make a quiet, creeping peace with the reality that my poetry had passed.. a phase, a cloud. A shadow that drifted on to the next set of lovers whose connection rang truer than the love I had loved with more than a love. I was settling into poverty of the mind.

But after all the silence and the pain, floating through space aimlessly I've come across a new planet, finally, after years of traveling alone, bypassing countless of uninhabitable ones. I'm unsure of it's purpose and approach it cautiously... but even beyond the reaches of it's gravitational pull, it has triggered a resurgence of poetry and prose.

A very good sign.

And the first words drawn from me:

Sooty night into streaming dawn,
thick sleeping silence of a comatose city.
Air buoyant with lovebird song,
lust dead for Winter and Autumn scorns all pity.
Her heart a fertile land, where coals burned in hearth
now seeds with soil splintering,
making way for Love's birth.

It has begun and I welcome it.