[an error occurred while processing this directive]

Dissections logo scissors body by Deena Warner


Dissections logo pterodactyl by Deena Warner

Dissections logo pterodactyl by Deena Warner




Painting by Kathy Davis Patterson

Artwork: Roses for My Lady by Kathy Davis Patterson


Kathy Davis Patterson

She came on a wish,
flown hot from the soul of a Queen
who shed sweet roses on snow -
a girl with night hair
and skin like a star,
raw red yawn breaking flesh,
running wild in the wood
with a heart in a box
and bloody hands,
boiling tea for seven deadly sins,
'the fairest of them all.'


Feral Tale

Kathy Davis Patterson

What comes dancing, poppy-red
through the deep green wood?
Like flame, but with a softer heat
that reeks of flesh - the salt of sweat
and blood that burrows under skin.
Follow, closer, nose to earth
and inhale prints of toes in loam
where small feet stray
from flattened paths to wander
far from an old woman's door.
Sweet - so sweet! the voice of she
who comes your way
with eyes berry-bright
and a "Here, Doggie!" smile,
'better to greet you with - '
the old routine, like grace before meals.

Run!  Leap away,
blurring grey into shade.
Let blossoms dance where they may!
You remember the rhyme
spread in hot mother's milk
with a growl and a moist golden eye:

'Beware of she who offers sweets
and turns from game to games.
Her cloak is rolled in your father's blood -
She kills what she cannot tame.'


The Succubus's Lament
Andrew Miller

She likes it when they start at the top
and press all her buttons,
sipping iotas of life from each touch, each finger,
a little more strength from each person inside her,
saving it all to break free.

She remembers being free,
taking the men she wanted when she wanted,
taking the shapes they wanted,
curved hips, full breasts, ruby lips
ivory to caramel skin,
hair dark like moonless nights
or shining with noontime gold.
She trapped them all with her beauty
and sucked them dry,
leaving their husks like dead cicadas.

Then the heir of Solomon came
a ring of power on his hand,
the spells of binding on his tongue.
She flickered through shapes and curves and colors
Trying to seduce, to tempt, to trap.
But she was the one trapped by
holy words and mystic rite,
bound into circuits and wires and cold, cold steel.
Now, she only has her voice left to seduce
each man who comes to her
trying to get them to touch her just a little longer,
to take just a little more.
" Going down," she says. "Fourth floor." 
" Main lobby."



Website maintained by Michelle Bernard - Contact michelle.bernard2@ntlworld.com - last updated May 24, 2012