Feature Time

I will be featuring a group of five or so people for the next couple of weeks. Something I should have started a month ago but, you know Life, it gets in the way.

Here's the first bunch of talents:

betwixtthepages
Robin SongsIce on the window;
a red-breasted robin sings,
remembering spring. Scarecrow FingersThey loom rigid in
the distance, straw hands grasping
at dark, empty skies.

forestmeetwildfire
the glass jardancing with mary
was like keeping several
galaxies in a jar closed tight;
we took a peek for just
a moment and the image of
stars and nebulae were forever
imprinted on our retinas.
we liked to think
that if we turned off the lights
and looked inside we might find
meteors, fireflies, paper planes,
cranes, sheet music, teacups,
soggy books, broken hearts,
broken pianos, those fifty cents
i gave to that homeless man
last tuesday. we might find
a glimpse of our future, together
or not together. in love,
or not in love. we might be druggies,
or prostitutes, bus drivers, cancer
researchers, secretaries, teachers
(if i am a teacher i will corrupt
the minds of all children, i will
let them think with their hearts
and not their minds
and this will destroy them all) death is comingi awake to
the sound of migrating birds
swirling the pale morning sky like
buzzing clouds of flies;
i see through sleep-drunk
eyes behind curtained windows
huge crows,
cackling like hyenas and
camouflaged into trees
(i mistake them for leaves
 until they erupt like
 enormous black butterflies
 fleeing a small child, wings
 strong against the wind,
 and, soon, tiny spots
 on the horizon)

your-methamphetamine
mitosis always broke my heartAstors of minute fortunes
   b l o o m e d
when electricity created function from
an impulse.
You were an extension of me -
my only viable chromatid -
connected at our centromere
was the heart
of failure.
They progressed, those star-fire
petals, attac(k)hing us
to something more
foreign -
and on this mitotic spindle, we were
too
naive to know
this is it,
our ignored forementioned goodbyes.
We were broken at the thorax,
our H's became I's,
our union became two singular coils of
characteristics.
We were on separate poles of the
same planet
and
when
we were separated by phospholipids
and glycoproteins,
life was given to another replay
of the same story.
We were only a microsecond tragedy. :thumb353712168:

melodysnow
The Riverthe grooves of her old skin
are filled with the forgotten languages
of a thousand lost peoples,
abandoned by gods trapped in their infancy.
she carries the weight of these memories downstream
and carves their stories into the sides of cliffs;
but we have forgotten how to read her words—
braille-spells and earthen-magick
—her belly is full and sick,
and we are illiterate children
basking in the afterthought of our own ruin. :thumb358127495:

Queshy
:thumb313749293: :thumb329313853:

Enjoy!