http://slow.writerscafe.org/cakeeater The original writings of author Isadora en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776224533 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 The evening stars used to sparkle bright for meas I sang them lullabies at dawn.And those northern oaks joined in the chorus,shaking their limbs at another night sky that left themnaked and weeping with dew.We sang dirges and laments,and the horizon turned light and dark with t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/367339/ The snowflakes revel in their synonymity to frozen rainand erase the street curbs where we used to share cigarettes. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/362880/ I adorethe stubborness of your chin. And sometimes, when you laugh,I forget what I was going to say. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/360068/ Now with improved title!!! http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/359905/ He learned nothing out there in the snowand filth of December with red fingers,hard and bitten with cold.Tomorrow will not bring anythingthat November forgot to leave on his door step. He hopes for admission of guilt from the universe,an apology, or an escape planfor when nothin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/358917/ Nothing Happens:                Proli escorted Old Ben back to his walk-up, bracing her arm around him to keep him from falling.  He mumbled an occasional generality.        &ld.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/358614/ Another Note Down:         Gus pushed open the tavern door.  The air inside was stale but warm.  Tavern air was much better than the alternative: cold and musty apartment air.  His whole Sunday had been spent with his biology books.&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/358613/ But their chains:         The train ride back to the city had been long.  The rocking of the cart and the tugging of the rails had made Proli sleepy.  She flinched and held back a yawn as she stepped off the tram platform.  She ached .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/358612/  Gustapho says, in his broken English,“Why you write? You have so lovely a face! Why write?” A moment when I bite back the bile and sorrow. Instead, I roll my shoulders—shrug—smile sweetly—stare at my empty glass and get him to buy anoth.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/354188/ Summer has abandoned me and left a trail of leaves and left  turns.  I quit the whole sick mess and choose to skip merrily into autumn with my fat palms over my cold ears singing: la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.I've been thinking about Poland and drinking on credit. I am alone for.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/342432/ When asked why she is so sad,she will smile smally, shrug, and say, "It's part of my charm." http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/342431/ The futility of your existence makes beautiful music,a symphony of immobility.You are a form of perfection in utter atrophy. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/342430/  Respects:                        The tram slowed down and eventually reached a full stop. Proli grabbed her flowers and hopped down the stairs onto the station platfo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/342429/  Public Transport:             Proli watched the city roll past the window: rows of stores, warehouses, traffic signs, brick, concrete, glass windows taller than herself. The tram tugged along, picking up speed as it got far.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/342428/ Thank you, Ms. Parker. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/336634/ My feet are like fetuses.They are softand canbe harmed by metal coat hangers. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cakeeater/335827/ 3 Simple Rules of Writing 1. 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