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		<title>Alice Beecher | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/Alice_Beecher</link>
		<description>The original writings of author Alice Beecher</description>
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		<copyright>Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org</copyright>
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		<ttl>15</ttl>
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			<title>Brittle </title>
			<description>And nothing could ever approach it, that one sensuous gorge. Her teeth met each blackberry blood hungry, rapacious, as the juice filtered through every nerve of her submissive mouth . The pure ecstasy of eating after a week of self-imposed starvation is something like a first kiss. Because yes, you'..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/397054/</link>
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			<title>[untitled]</title>
			<description>bricks</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/376198/</link>
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			<title>[untitled]</title>
			<description>as the computer crackles on, beaming into its tremulous energy I feel the convection cells in my body quavering similarly, unbalanced on the uneasy surface between heat and stillness</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/375366/</link>
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			<title>An Accident</title>
			<description>I left the detergent, half lidded resting guilty on the washing machine and it slipped (things slip)&amp;nbsp;and took possession of the bathroom floor so that my grandpa couldn't get up and he had to call to my father for half an hour and so my father made me clean up the thick blue ooze ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/368234/</link>
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			<title>Vertebrae Melody</title>
			<description>Ignore the title.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/360963/</link>
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			<title>[untitled]</title>
			<description>she used to be a dancertorso flaming in the frozen airrebelling against the streetlight glareshe danced for coins and petty onlookers&amp;nbsp;she used to tense and stretchwith every musle high on etherand as the dark would come to seize hershe would dance for the memory of that music&amp;..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/358380/</link>
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			<title>Close Encounter</title>
			<description>I remember a night from this summer. At the time it seemed like any other anonymous summer night, with hormones trembling beneath the surface of shaky smiles and skimpy clothes. Perri and Kylie came to my house-they were fighting at the time, a fact that I tried to avoid with as little cognitive d..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/355998/</link>
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			<title>Used</title>
			<description>It's five o'clock darkness in novemberand you get used to itjust like you got used to all the other thingsthat once made you quaver, that made you uncomfortablescratches on record playershot tongues with scathing wordsand other such nightcrawlinglonelybusted thingsthat used to wreak ha..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/343232/</link>
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			<title>Generations</title>
			<description>&quot;Teenage Riot&quot;-Sonic Youth 

I guess it's a little easy to write poems about teenagers. maybe I should try thirty year olds next.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/325021/</link>
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			<title>Just A Kid</title>
			<description>When the telemarketer calledyou said you couldn't talk to thembecause you were just a kid.&amp;nbsp;&amp;quot;Just a kid?&amp;quot; I said&amp;quot;A kid who smokes the life out of his lungsand colors his mind with thirteen different kindsof hallucinogenic substances?&amp;nbsp;&amp;quot;A kid with turpent..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/315845/</link>
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			<title>Sometimes you don't have to speak.</title>
			<description>He walked home and curled his cigarette into fourths, then eighths , then shards of incandescent paper. Michelle decided they should walk down the street at midnight and hear each other talk and hear the loudness pummeling from the stereo speakers. It was music they didn't understand or care to comp..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/312596/</link>
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			<title>The Scent of Grass and Cigars</title>
			<description>When I look at the space between the meadowsat the graphite road submerged under theweight of its own shadows,a graveyard for squirrels dead and aliveI realize that I am at the parameter of dawn and duskcaptured in the spectacle of a rare breed of timethat is both ephemeral and infinite&amp;..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/311883/</link>
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			<title>A Law of Waking</title>
			<description>Is there a lawof wakingthat dictates I must lungeinto last night's late cricks and cracksxamining every ancient word, now set and firmly saidlike hunting for diamonds in the rubblepocketing emeralds from the black-day landfillgems festering, sinking, laying fallowdrowning in heaps of..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/308306/</link>
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			<title>Grandpa</title>
			<description>&amp;nbsp;He addresses his shirtslike boxing championsmidweight, heavyweight, light as a featherbut he is not as nimble as a butterfly&amp;nbsp;He is old.He is old enough that he pauses&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; between hi s l e t&amp;nbsp;t e r&amp;nbsp;sThat Wednesday and Thursday mean the same thing to himAs..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/306868/</link>
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			<title>July</title>
			<description>&amp;nbsp;she told herselfthat she could be deliciousall lips and sweat and stained glass eyesthat she could be crushed and distilledand devoured.&amp;nbsp;tightlips could touch herbite hersomeone could do itsomeone could bundle and break her&amp;nbsp;It is July, the month whencountrie..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/306865/</link>
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			<title>Tree Stories</title>
			<description>Calendar colored insects bite the popping cherry bundles from the purple moth infested ground. Soon a man will come and he will eat the cherries and his stomach will churn with remorse. A woman will come and he will wish that he could taste her too, smell the dead leaves of her mind. He will wish he..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/306656/</link>
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			<title>[untitled]</title>
			<description>They turned crystallized substances as they spun violin strings on the echoey hollow that splinters into the mouths of eight piece guitarsThe substance formed a sugar of resin glass, and resin glass spiraled downward into starlit heavens and broke apart the nowheres slumming in the nowhere landT..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/306523/</link>
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			<title>Burning Silos</title>
			<description>There were pretty peoplewhere I used to liveinside silosdust houses&amp;nbsp;her eyes would shine like marble candyshe told me she could seethe ghosts of ancient kissesshe could taste them&amp;nbsp;and I tried to look forthose old highschool heartsjust as 8 o'clockeclipsed ustwo ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alice_Beecher/306518/</link>
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