http://slow.writerscafe.org/Alfred The original writings of author Analgesia en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776076516 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15      Adam’s love was a searing hate behind the ears.  A devaluation of the market around his chosen gem that made foil of foreign busts and thighs.  His love shined.  It twinkled in his simian eyes like a thing grasped from a dead pharaoh’s hand. &.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/947762/     Thin long legs.  Not graceful, twigs and rubber bands.  Stilts that fumble and prance away from lions and tigers and mad men oh my, my, my.  He could see her, buck ten maybe, strapped to the hood.  Neck tilts just so.  Another goddamn damsel.  The car.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/824205/    Mrs. Henderson lives just down the street from God under a nilla yellow cracker tile roof.  Every night just after her blanket clutch T.V. time she whispers to her cats about how much she hates words like “spat,” and “F**k,” and “c**t.”  No .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/793034/ Dead city in the dead of nightCreaks like a casket overturningPale pallor cadaver moonlightLights up stiffs dressed up in mourningLimo black tie partyHere to hear the deaf man dirgeEvery movement lifelessReanimated and recomposedEvery where I see themDead cityI been digging all day in the living cla.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/768292/ Contrived conceptions of contrived conception:We’re all co-incidents Con-passion  compatriotsBorn every minuteSurvivors guiltOf some original spermBorn of sacrificeIn as Christ was outImmaculate deception: Beauty of birth http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/761616/   The blonde mustache grin in the corner sniffing his fingers before they fade, like lighters going out in a sea breeze.  Another song about sex, bottles breaking like steel drums, from the other side of the wall.  The sort of sarcastic nihilism that cracks deep, even God fights back .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/721221/         I am a nineteen years old, I am white with blonde hair and blue eyes, I am male.  But I am not a man.  I am loved by my family.  I am not rich but I have clean water and none of my young middle class friends are dead before they should be, I have .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/695981/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/695979/ Ain’t no folk hero’s majestyAin’t no John Henry simonyAin’t no rough handed ministryOh-The country’ll sell you harmonic mythFor one thousand grains of sentimentFor the weight of rhetoric on your backThey’ll steel your soul into the minds of the publicPress you int.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/681368/ Let me carve you a piece of a pecan treePick the barkPut a heart In the middle with our initialsClog it up with comfort foodServe it up with a cup of loveLet me climb up the side of a pecan treeShake it upLet the nutsDrop into a tin can-drop into a pie tinAlways fresh because companies never can can.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/674249/ Something in betweenPygmalion guileHowling wind tunnel hairElectric eyes ThighsAnd bright distant bluesMid-morning day dreams ofYesterdayOr tomorrowSomething irreverent UninspiringSomething that doesn’t belong in a poem, that makes poetry into prose and then treads the line in between.But.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/672110/    I should have kissed her, Virginia.    All that was left of her is a ball and the rust on the side of paper-yellow shed, so she’s been mended with ribbons and smiles and stolen parts. “Kiss me.” She said with the voice on the end of a telephone lin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/665595/ Sleek quick-silver chassis wrapped round the chorded frame.Perpetual motion,yetstill as still as death.Stuck.Trenched up. Snorting vapor furious with agitation.PUSH.Mud-chucking-boot-track-PUSHRope-round-her-carriage-PULLSlacktwang-PullPush Wait.Indian e.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/630559/     Summer days smell of chlorine and sunscreen, of drying off in the sun on a thin towel, feeling the concrete underneath like a sweater fresh from the dryer. Summer days look like pools of blue, wrinkled thinly with white webbing that dances surreally against the depths; tangy wat.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/629645/ Dimes on her eyesDead in the water-Liquidated-Register cash-register cashSee money-sea Monet Dust for counterfeit Finger printsWater mark ballistics Are never a coincidence Green eyed Lady Pluribus UnumDrowning in red inkDOA http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/620264/    Master Gaston first met Mr. Parker sometime after midnight, in front of a Chinese eatery, hydrating a row of morning glories. He had appeared, as Master Gaston’s driver neared Mr. Parker, as a rather out of place Italian fountain upon which some hooligans, on a whim, had fastene.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/619323/    I lived on the fifth floor of the Ophelia Apartments that winter, near the rail line, and under ten more stories of brick and concrete and rebar. From the outside she was a sturdy thing, but, on the inside, there was always this terrible draft, the chill wind blew through as if the br.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/618600/ “Why?” Her eyes were bright and beautiful, I could see the moonlight from the T.V. reflecting in them.“I…” I had no answer.“Why should I love you?”I could see the sea shore in the freckles on her skin.“You’re neurotic, inconsistent.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/610701/ I’m tired of songs that sound like sleeping on the way to TampaAndI’m tired of old stands music that smells like sun screen and water bottlesAnd I’m tired of shoes with soles still stuck to them and Only using my grandpa socks for church and Seriously considering DCI and .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/591304/ Overpasses cast aqueduct shadowsOver roads that lead from RomePlacid pilgrims clad in plebian garbRambling on and finding anonSkeletons and ossuary bonesAs marble as coliseum ruinsSilhouettes as still as death Wafer thin men wondering whyBloated Bacchanal bureaucrats Fill .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/589127/  I don’t remember what stars look likeAre they fashioned of bulbs and filaments?Do they glow like limeLighting a man holding a skull?In seas of wheat in seas of cold storm waterYou can see them Go.Go find them and tell meDo they still shine? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/579803/    There is something magical about things of sensationally ordinary quality, an enchanting mediocrity that, in it’s irony, stirs the imagination into a frenzy. Birchwood Bridge was just such a place, so thought the inhabitants of Ballad falls, which is no where near any falls. Eve.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/576037/ Lord knows there’s fire in the bluesLet there be smoke and tunesAnd it was good He made man’s heart to keep a beatFingers to tap snap and repeatOr maybe just to push piano keysOn ones and twos; and threes And then he made man’s mindSo it could twist,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/575657/ Build a ship Of ivoryAnd buy AmericaFor beads made of trails of tearsAnd drag a wagon into a canyonFull of flowing water under the bridge crimes against a land and a peopleThen see if it floats http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/574752/ All I want is falling asleep before I forget who I amAll I want is a dog’s smile on my face All I want is a little less mortal toilAll I want is to be somewhere else  All I want is a reason All I want is too much to ask http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/574751/ And with tension drawn like a stringMountingWaitingWith days shot dead on sightWe wade through fluid black fabric till alphabetized algorithm of academic ascension footsteps end with a geriatric handshake Then,Cut loose to wither-fizzle in the tangle of days,Mind filled with.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/571697/ Fisherman smiles like scaling a fishWhite waves crash like losing a shipSlick cliffs loom like starting to slip Houses stacked carelessly by the roadsideWinding pedestrian path picking it’s twisting way twixt sandy white Houses of cards by the hungry sea Barnacl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/571695/ Summer grave morningLiving dead noontime day dreamsI’m roused only to sleep In deep warm sunshine curtains Never knowing if I’m alive http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/568510/ Wondering whether there’s something otherThan falling face first into poolsFalling face first for youPerhaps a poets purpose is to lovePerhaps to pretendUntil then I’ll just have my arm in the windReaching for passing cars and trying to forget All the times I mistook syna.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/568506/ Slanting rain like impressionist brushesRoadside trees bristle like worried cats Something for miles is nothing in timeRadio staticNo stations Mirage on the cold lightless highwayCap exploding with scraggly woolen hairStiff stuffy jacket arm hailing a rideFrozenBlack thumb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/568339/ --Remember:linen light lace place matsCeramic cats Stretch mark carpet moorsIll lit yellow linoleum kitchen floors --RememberMake shift sand box claysuburban summer day Catch a caterpillar in a trapFrisbee filled with leaves and sap Remember summer.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/568210/ Tires crunch, a chorus of droplets on doors clapping dull shut. Fevered stretch for an overhang in the pneumonia plopping pavement.Warm.Laughter conversing over conversations sonorously.I, your eye, across a stream of other consciences.An instant in a sea of time.A droplet in a rain pu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/555733/ Pin drop deepinto the fabric of my lifepinned downto a concept I cannot reach There's a girlwho's never existedpretending to be youand I can't sleep. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/553520/ Through a percipitous descentof mortarboardsmuzzle flashlenses flicker There's some stationaryin a framein a bony hand There will be a long cloak shadowbehind the stageon a poorly lit feild I'll march on itI'll watch cleetsbeat it into tumultI'll lay .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/553518/ Cursed contented warmththat shakles meheavily anchoredto a blasted lethergylay about in poolsof quiet desperation: sinkingthinking: what shall I do? Let waether be climacticlet climate be weatheringlet me search for hearty firelet me search for refridgerator snowlet the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/546164/     There's a window down somewherein this town I know it    There's a draknessthoroughlylit    There is a breath of night airwith street light texture    There's a raucusdangerouscure    Somewhere someo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/543427/ Let I play Hamletobsequiously perilously soO fill the other roles-harkyour claudiusso Kingly, ill gotten-harkyour Royal Daneunabsolved, forgottenThusly do I persue your ghostyet wish to kill you toosuch a leperous hostNo wonder inactionplagues me soNo wonder inacti.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/542338/ Ink to pagewith a blinkof her pretty blue eyesshe createdfrom seas to skiesflickering dragonfliesof life An instant as the universebursts into existancea tyrant 'gainst my resistancefloodgate brokenlet I put my finger in the dambut, woe, I am damnedto drown in spid.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/542335/ “I said I didn’t want no priest.”We were in a small room with a plastic table and a few stools, everything was green; sterile astro-turf green: the table, the stools, the linoleum, it was suffocating. He was wearing a orange jump suit with a few letters and numbers on it, Stark.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/540440/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/540439/     They can't wait to let the sky get so dark that it hints at light, so dark it feels like you're always just about to fall into something deep and cavernous and see the neanderthal drawings on the wall.  They're nomads tracking tires into the street light praries of Ameri.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/537523/ Pendulum limbsmoonlitgrandfather clock faceminutedelicate detail handsstrike twilightstrike midnightstrike timeless untimely deaththere is no end of the endnever is foreverstained wooden boxticking tocking clockdust covered boxlayers and layersblack tie prayerscobwebs t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/535329/ Let my selfish weavle thoughtseat away at my sleepsow what they reepplanting producemind in the dirt,take a nap,so I can wake upwith the roots of the sun in my eyes;bright eyes on my mind.Maybe I'll grow away from you,stretch toward new morning dew:a bent bow yew,and I'll gro.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/533370/    The liquid between my toes and the frying pan pavement that threatened my shoes with a forboding hiss as I disembarked from the train told me it was July when I reached New Orleans.  I squinted reproachfully at the devil in the sky as it climbed high.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/531746/   The night is dark and calm, windy with autumn smiles. The fireworks have all died down and we walk along this pavement path to the song of one hundred feet chatting behind us. Our hands are civil together, and cold: your ring is icy to the touch. There are one hundred things I want to tell yo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/531348/ Shell shocked beachescratered, pitted peachesan island spitting out the corean island spitting out the corps-wake up-In the pock marked devil's face-wake up-running this futile devil's raceGod is asleep, lament the menabstemious in their dampened dens.But I fear more that he is a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/526792/    Cottages are biscuits in the oven sun. There we were on the hill looking at egg washed homes and homeless men and women, the family of man, with bright yellow orange outlines. There was a swath of auburn hair on my shoulder painting me with her slumber. I felt the lazy day envelope me.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/526285/ Underneath a Sicimore treeblotches of shade envelope methey cluster like islandsin a sea of sunlightshining with luster as brightas a smileas brightas her eyesI sink to the bottom I sink underneatheyelids closing as I forget to breathflicker and flashwaves above me splash. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/525391/ Will anything change here.Will the earth, a canvas,painted with our fear,painted with our tears,and sweat,and blood,be anything morethen a stop on some tour. Will school children break rankstare into the cold sanguinegreen, green, grassand see eyes, empty, staring b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/525388/ Here leaves of gray grace the groundrustle not, without a sound.Soles stick to slipping streetsbleeding through to numb your feet.Liquid paper pinned to pavement face down.Ink that leaks.Sink that drips.We're all dirty dishes dishevelled by such a dischordant dishwasher.Dangling .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alfred/524954/