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Three Poems – Lucille Gelsomina Falco


her name is censored
she runs with the lame deer

rusted joints cause her to shriek
through the bark of her lean-to

her corneas diluted
yellowed with gasoline
with a crude oil vocabulary
and vaginal molars

her hair grows backwards
so she braided dead rats
tail to tail to tail to tail

Lazy Lips

they call me
lazy lips
cause my drawl
takes minutes to catch

the spirit finds me
when the kids in
the park break their
forties towards the black

and the dust halo
licks me tender
in the mornings
after the kill

Ways To Die

this is a common-wealth
of shared switch-blades
these common-good cuts
a common courtesy for all
of us dying off in lesser known
manners: chemicals, capitalism,
canker sores, cancers of various
bodily police-states, cordless phones,
christmas gifts, christ himself

do do do do do do do do do do
do do do do do do do do do do


Lucille lives in the woods of Oregon. She writes poetry, fiction, and paints her nightmares. Her blog is

“Pixie” / “Lazy Lips” / “Ways To Die” were previously published in Fuck Art, Let’s Dance Issue #008

Filed under: Fuck Art, Let's Dance, Poetry

About the Author

Posted by

Jeremiah Walton is wary of bios, but there's the current sign they're flying: “Jeremiah Walton is founder of Nostrovia! Press & traveling bookstore Books & Shovels. They’ve featured at the NYC Poetry Festival, Oakland Beast Crawl, San Francisco Lit Crawl, Death Rattle, the Kansas City Poetry Throwdown, Cleveland’s Guide to Kulchur: Snoetry, among other lit fests, street corners, & living rooms across the country. They loath-themselves, & are struggling to find a healthy extension of the poem that incorporates publishing. Consistently confused, & trying to make space for compassion for the parts of myself I hate.” That feels like tattooing "love me" across my neck, but hopefully you get to know me thru my poems, not the accolades that are nothing more than memories to let go of.

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