http://slow.writerscafe.org/Timcg48 The original writings of author Tim McGovern en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776011785 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 The sharp edges are worn away.Life has made me smoothas sea glass,rounded whereonce I was polished blade.Dull,infinitely dull.Abrasive salt,cloying comfort,ghost of habits that linger,cocaine in the brain,burnt tar in the vein,the machinery must slow.It wheezes .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/504829/ The girls are sentimentalbut squeamish of thornsof impalementin generali am a target for boysBB guns and slingshotstake down the weakest of thingsand leave it liemove onmove onI plead to the girlsto touch meredeem metake me out of the familiarI am worth a nickleeveryone is worth at least a nickleThi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/494770/ I am transparentfragileCoke bottle greenwith motion sicknessfrom the birthing canalto the briar patchHere you don't movedon't share in the sunglint or shinehere we are safesurrounded by painsafedon't move http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/494766/ I misread the sentence " All done with midnights" as " All done with midgets the poem followed http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/418420/ Each morning the Mockingbirdsings and squabbleshoots, beeps, bopscroons outside my window.He repeats the same songsad infinitum for his own pleasure,or attract a mate,to annoy the harpy blue jay,braying crowthe eternally effeminatetwittering chickadeeor simply t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/418407/  They will read what I've writtenand perhaps take comfort in the fact,that on paper at least,I seemed fine with the whole idea.That I wasn't afraid. They may see messages,like holy images on pancakes orwindows,a sign to cling to,closure,a farewell,a la dee da,&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/231239/  I swallow her cast off crueltiesbecause love coats kisses with glass,to dwell in her favorone must take her nails.To live one must always be dyinga little inside.The poison of beliefshreds me slowlywhere no one can see.Sometimes she asks about my cough. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/230620/  I always attach such significanceto dreams of her.They are hallowed visitations,faces on cathedral floors,voices in waning nightthat cleave the dark,and adrenaline,like herbal tea,in my mouth,head, heart. I abhor the waking and clingselfishly, senselesslyto the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/229953/  I watch her take my handout of love, fear and instinct.Pieces of the worldare growling,and threaten,turning strawberry milkto a monstrosity,tasting metallic and sharp,blood iron,pig iron. There are no melodies here,no lullabies or clockwork music boxes,just ang.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/227972/ Originally published in Zygotes In My Coffee http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/226778/  Out on Egg Rock,amid winter battered seas whippedto a stiff peak,the wind curses you and ripswarmth from your body,a mad frosted surgeon,a wet succubus of death. The lighthouse leans ,arthritic in this gale,shutters drawn like eyelidsagainst the truthof blue gray.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/226495/ First published in ThievesJargon http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/225722/    I drank Blue Hawaiiansand wore wayfarer shades on Sam’s sidewalk caféat Revere Beach. The old wooden Cyclone, looking like an archaeological dig stood at oceans end,bleached bones of a fallen giant,atrophiedfrom years of salt water and sailor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/225691/ Thanks to Kara for the last word http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/225318/  all roads lead to youeven if i make a pointof walking backwards http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/225151/  Would you come with meback over salt sown miles,tears , sea waterto where my blood is housedbeneath the moundof Oghma?Would you ply me with Uisce Beatha,the water of life,as mine slips lower,let me sing of old things,silly things,allow me to tell each red haired mai.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/224440/  How would I create you,if the touch of life lay hidden in my topographic hand?Not through words,the knife edge corners of practiced syllables could not expressthe toothsome swell of your hips,such fine baby hair,in a ray of indecent sunlightthat becomes a field of spun straw,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/224435/  By living diminishedshe has made me peripheral,a vanquished soldier on the hillside,watching my homebeing desecrated,from afar. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/224268/ Love nullifies questions and warms dead bones,it answers lone echoes over a star strewn lake,and wonders aloud over exotic teas.Love wraps salient bandages over scarred minds, smiling through the onslaughtit bleeds forgiveness over bruised assailants, and lies unperturbed among thorn.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/223700/  I carry my death with melike a well worn pennyit’s there when I reach in my pocketunexpectedsuddenI play with itfeel itturn it over and overtrying to see it’s historyI carry my death in my chestit plays hide and seekwith scars and suturesand wakes me.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/223464/  All my diamondsrevert back to carbon,under the pressure of my expectations. It still surprises me after all these years.even though I have a chest full of charcoal.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/222623/  Elohimthey whisper invoking the name of the unseen.All things answer and vibrate, manifest the internal dance that brings the child from succorto falling away,all my prayers are dependent on you justpicking up the phone. Elohim,through the wires,it rings and ringsech.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/221937/  When you start sifting though your thoughts,looking for something different, something worth writing about,seeing the same dirt fall,refined, broken downto the atomic puerile detail,no gemstones,no civil war bullets,no pennies you buried as a kidhoping they'd be worth a fortu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/221349/ There, on the bathroom wall,someone had written"Except Jesus"in black indelible marker.I wonder if Jesus would correct his spelling?I thought what a stroke of genius it wasto advertise Jesus on a wall that you had to look atfor a few minutes every day.I went back to.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/220670/  Bo Hung tells of the golden monkeywith many arms to trap youconfuse youdazzle you with shine and walk youoff the pathinto the oval of wantwhere you pass the same signs and think“Haven’t I been here before?" He laughs over black peg teethand he wheeze.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Timcg48/220047/