http://slow.writerscafe.org/BrandonYork The original writings of author Brandon York en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776041431 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 when the serpent motivesets my soles upon its pathand brings the ghosting heelsdown from elevated brancheswith a powdery thumponce more into the avenues of timeonly then I may returnriding on the capeof a river's ceaseless rushingto its ouroborical inceptionI have per.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/443798/ there were words made of shapestaken from the dreaming welland its copper pailthat became like runeson the scroll of my tonguewhen I drew themfrom their native watersand I pulled you down to my cellarto bare those naked shardsstolen for the knitting of our marrowwith a ferme.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/437700/ what I know, stillis the sound of your silencethe breath, suspendedtrembling on the diving boardof a cautious tongueyour's like cursive inkwound about the scrollsof sunken lettersnaming me by esoteric shades and totems of the spiritthrowing kissed stonesinto nomadic waterswhe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/436114/ a thousand names of rainarise tonight, pronouncedupon the wires strung between usstored in hidden signatures of fingersetched in window breathwhose blush embossespoems you had entrustedto the sudden summoningof autumn's panting foglike the fables of the oceanwhen&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/410524/ I have been listeningfor seven yearsto this nascent songthat overran its well-springand spilled into our bathwatercurling in-between our fleshin open-window summersriding out along the rippling hemof tides that blushed our naked toesthe hours that were never namedor captured.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/409481/ you have it nowperched in cupping handsthat carry thirst awayin bringing rainand breaking cobalt bottlesdry as you had never beenracing to the currentsin your urgent robesthat tongueless menhad woven with the manesof broken thoroughbredsit was youthin scenes of untetheri.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/402808/ Come and find me in the cloak of winterwhen the crimson embersflicker on the dark-litpockets of my window boxthere within the ever shadedfever roomsmy flesh will bloominto the wild manethe ripple of the beastand crude machinelet my curepaint your bodywet like chromea.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/402191/ every now then a train jumps the tracks, just in the nature of chance, and for that day everything is jangly and obscured in mute rituals http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/401644/ it's one of thosetrain-wreck morningswhen no amount of coffeeor blue-collar courage can sufficewhen the hope is that the sunforgets to breach the fog-choked canyonsbecause the ghost behind your eyesis staring backwards at the space a soul should occupya place where no-one knows the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/399790/ the north wind floods nightwith snow and incantationswaking dark matterfrom the silhouettes of my eye's peripherystalking through the bramble and howling into the warrensof my elemental selfone that waits between the duskof two worlds, on the parting lipsof languageless mantraa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/383321/ i am painted greenin youkeeping gardens bythe oil wellsand tasting curryin your pale skinwinterwe are beardsof rusty wireculled togetherin a caravanof carbon ashfrom the pyretongues ofgreen enamelflakes as silent mandalasof rain  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/381362/ there are soundsdressed in the robes of winter lightwhose touch is one of swaddling absolutionwhispered in our ears as music to an instrument,as the comfort of a metaphor consoles a mind with empathyfluttering, undulating wavescreated of disruption to the curtains round ou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/381127/  The sun breaks open over a distant hillsplashing pale winter lightacross the dusty windshieldand painting long stripesof shadow from the chain-linkfence along the roadas I hook a leftthe old car corneringlike a carouselgroaning on its axleas it goes in wide, lazy arcsth.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/381112/ the sounding brass and punchcardshave been put away and the lines to the lunch-cart dwindlelike stingy wicks expiring there is only the tamed heartin its open cage, who does nottest the reins, the dragging cuffsof eyes lolling past a burning displaymutely vigilant of momentsblocked.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/381110/  I watched old Cuban grandmotherssmoldering in plumes of dark tobaccosipping water like a tonicand imbibing rum as airfixed into street-side stoolsbacked by chipped and fading pastelporticosreporting laughter and the distant warbling of novice troubadours .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/381107/ In the taxi, almost dawn, my arm asleep around the seatbackbreathing your perfume and thehot, sulfuric winds pouring inthrough half-open windows I had seen the lookinviting me into your mouthstanding on that corner bars all closingand I did not speak those wordsbut watched the sc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/381101/  they want measure like a bulletuniform intentions playedand a chorus of endorsementstamped on the windthat follows you the crowd is malted upon tweed and brandylike the rough backhandof an old blues allegorystinging eyes with sweat give blood and find.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/381098/ clapboard wallsthe dustof gravel alleywayssoles camped outin summerwhiskeypressed togun-shy lipsstrangers askedfor spelling and their godin primary colorslike wordless apologiesyou gathered nectarinesfor a Harvest Moonbanquetyour long-ago'syour decades on the wind.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/381096/ the tongue of nightspeaks blue toevery king and vagrantcoasting albatross currentsgatheringfor late boughtswith rivermenor riding nameless rails they soar on wings ofburlap and bailing wirerattling likedead leavesas crowsorbiting the moonbreak into its furnac.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/381094/ dog eared book pagesthat have passed throughmany hands and into many eyesspearmint chewing guminterweaving with the radiant muskof a seasoned pipe on the bedside tablejet fuel fumes on cold, expectanttuesday mornings, as I boarda plane to some place I have never beenbut alwa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/BrandonYork/381089/ the street lamp emberburning after sunrisemy father's cheap, broken boots by the back doormusic in a language I will never learnand love all the more because of thisblack iron skillets and a jar of sourwood honey on the tablefingerless wool gloves to write to you in winte.. 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