September 2012

	September 2012 Hive Mind Mosaics of Prose Twisted Seedless Grief Trapped in Amber Love Playing with Matches Never Satisfied Aftershocks Come Lilac Mournings Country Skies	Hive Mind Cross your mind’s ink to your canvas, slash and slather your oils across the belly of my words. Each injection like a hormone, a visual steroid, a molecular fragrance of savory stew. Like bees we pollinate, rubbing, uncrossing our legs birthing the seeds of these dreams.
Mosaics of Prose It’s so alluring, this quiet time with you this time without my brain, with your nuanced skin and playful hues. a kaleidoscope clattering colors, crystalline verbs prattling grammatical tumblers falling in place each fragment released to the open maw of a page. It’s addictive, entrancing to see what may fall consonants with whisper or sting, adjectives of blade or bloom. It’s a jones I must soothe like ravenous bees in my veins. nightshade spilling open. their pollen in mosaics of prose.	Twisted Something turned this sky, like cider left too long on the porch, curd left to spoil in the clutches of a feral heat, a wicked yellow, oozing like pus. An anvil of cloud with a sour tooth. Its roots fell to the ground, twirling gnashing, grinding on its double-wide gums. great swathes arose a churning of barn sides of hand me down cribs a trash of dreams and shatter of lives. Wicked Sky - by Irdvid, ©2012	Seedless Grief send the waves away, ...can’t have them running over your thighs send the wind away, …lest it whisper your words of forgiveness and love. leave your paint in the shadows you don’t want this anymore. leave the canvas barren absent of my muse hollow abandoned black and infecund.
Trapped in Amber Trapped in the Amber High in my perch, the streets, glistening obsidian veins 30 stories down. Traffic like cells, coursing through the lights, pulsing, thrumming, tail light corpuscles heading back to the heart. Helicopters, like dragonflies, dipping and darting through the canyons, alighting to rooftops, ferrying the powerful, the wounded, the paparazzi news winking in the windows, whirling dollars and lives away. I am captive here, caught watching… a witness trapped in the amber, its thickness in my throat glimmering in the glass... another light in this city unable to touch you. Twin Peaks, © Carmen Mountfordt, 2012	Love Playing with Matches Fingers to fingers palms aligned across the glass. eye to eye pouring love between the shifting breeze the rising tide the ice blue tears as they said good-bye. Lips to lips as when they first said hello. wonder turned to wondrous like a French Horn flirting with a sonorous cello. like a skins first encounter with mink. Time to time, their clocks intertwined. endurance and assurance, like a season’s call for blossom in a late April’s light. like gentle rain to upturned grateful leaves.	Game of Love © Jess Harel, 2012 Never Satisfied I have gorged! I’ve eaten ravenously, great pieces of you torn away in my gluttony, running, dripping from the chin and from each hair of beard, each upper lip of my immodest minds. I’ve ripped and gnawed shredding each membrane, each delectable layer as Hannibal would sip at Clarice, as that Alien ‘Bitch’ takes Ripley, as Limbaugh would feast on the neck of our society. I have licked the rims of you, the serifs of your words, the curves of all you belie the hot tears in your colors, the pigment stirring swirling in your eyes that wants me as I want you.
Aftershocks On the morrow will you linger as I found you today a scream of beauty thrust into being nature’s carnal pleasure expressed in texture and hue hollows - pollen thick, swollen with fragile color pristine on the morrow will you question the slightest thought of the sky? will you wonder after rain now that you have bloomed? will you fret or will you revel in the wind? On the morrow will you sing once more or be mindless a miracle deaf with joy?	Come Lilac Mournings I held you on the balcony as an extra arm of these stars something from tomorrow’s dreams I held you for the crush the cruelness of their light come the lilac mournings from now. pull the trigger darling switch off your eyes snap the tears from these unwashed sheets close the call harden your heart peel the colors we painted from the walls of your eyes.	Country Skies stars stumbled from their aubergine sheets spacey twinked out as if drunk on nebula wine their sparkle and glam tarnished smeared in the brown boozy haze of exhaust. Not your grandaddy’s night spent puffing Borkum Riff on the porch no sprawl of the Milky Way no cobalt sigh of an evening falling to fireflies and crickets just the urban sprawl of concrete and mall undeveloped fields bike paths and ragweed Look Uncle Scott there’s Orion and… is that the Southern Cross? No Luka, that is Thousand Cypress Rolling Creek Withering Oaks Estates.