http://slow.writerscafe.org/J_Gittes The original writings of author Conor Larkin en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776043705 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Does it have roots beneaththe sun blasted-black rocks?Catching the refraction of glass pyramidsThrough the same light that lights those of stone? I stand deaf to the cannon cry of carsConstant and exalting off to something that ICannot see o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1426470/  I am aWax manStanding in The coldAnd lifeIs holdingA hammer http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1400043/ The cold, ancient andbeyond crisp clingsto the grey-backedfisted peaks, thumbed throughthe Earth--semi circled andentombing the rushing men.The seas green-spittingbrine in the heat (which is a lie)backs fearfully from those whowould ride and strip it of life and black blood (which sustains it n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1396482/ In Fall,the bean-drop rainsTumble clearand cleanAnd the roadsof MaineAre rusted redby them http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1392072/ The river bends down from Charleston, southwardto the ruins of the old water mill and out through the hills and over thecounty line.  It lays nestled there in the valley, and from those hillsone can see the river and further along the entire town.  As a .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1391112/ Bumming up the spine of Americahurtling throughlike an illness A worn man saidto himselfthat isto no one inparticular ‘There isuglinessin a thickblanketof snow’ .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1387823/ the butterfly floating under amicable skiessimple beauty held aloft by its own perfectionIt cares not for the storms it wrought far away http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1387172/ She pours throughMe like a gulpOf the Mississippi blue-Green; slithering downMy spine and a continentIt tears my soul in twoLeaving half for God andHalf for you, whoTrails it in the road,Worn and ragged and still loyal to youIn the towns, among the peopleMy emptiness cries for you,You the destroyer .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1384856/ Body my prison constricting levee to the boundless blue green seas of an ideal Body my crypt cruelly constructed, a cacophany of feeling thrown shamelessly into the face of the mind Body my life for even though broken without you I am not http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1382671/ I can see it in the distance,my death in midsummer,amid the towering pinesatop the peaked ridge-rowof sharp mountains,claiming, in their imperial presenceto have touched God long ago. I hear it now, this death in midsummerthrough brown sun-dried pinsthat .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1381083/             For now the sun shone,although it had rained hard yesterday and it would storm some more latertoday.  Frank Peterson didn’t worry.  For now he walked throughFranklin Square on .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1320452/ Hushed,          the world slips softly          into her vibrant repose.Noiselessly,          the solitary watcher dreams          as love's time passes him by.A sigh,    .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1258713/ The machine churns--It beats with a staccato efficiencyThe machine turns--spills out the guts,our faith,and our cojonesLeave it to the future,to trickle out.To leak into the mudThose left can only burn--Left to collect,All of the shattered pieces http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1256291/           The sun had risen, followed it's destined course, and now rested, cushioned by the endlessly rolling hills, which were covered with a thin layer of snow.  Amid these snow covered mounds sat a diminutive cottage, which expressed a distinct feeling of frigid lon.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/J_Gittes/1046858/