http://slow.writerscafe.org/temerity The original writings of author Temerity en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776011612 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 What did you gather in the night? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/temerity/1361805/ The writer triesto make a poem that means nothing and this is it.There are three desperate women, each trying to beunattainable;they slept in astrange hotel last night where the cracksbetween the ceiling and the wall werewide enough for music toescape and cond.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/temerity/1355568/ A poem about mental illness. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/temerity/1352706/ Human beings have a petty little habit of killing things and then calling them dinosaurs.  Dad couldn’t get his dinosaur out of the driveway that morning, as hard as he tried to get its engine to start. “Rusty old thing,” he called it,&l.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/temerity/1331231/ The line cracks as though wormswriggle through the telephone wires.It is a Wednesday, a few billion yearsfrom the very day in which the world began,and you are telling me somethingthat only the NSA and I can keep a secret, it seems.You did nothing today. This is the problem.On this day, a few billio.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/temerity/1319806/ Our eyes, once enamored with each other’s gazes,now flit like the shadows of owls caught in those yawning morning rays -rare and shy, almost ashamed as they hide away behind clandestine lenses.  And the breaking light cracks its claws against thepavement, arc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/temerity/1173313/ I walk through the zooto find that all the animals are dead -they are stuffed, black-button-eyedpuppets wearing zebra furs and elephant skins.My daughter asks me whythey don’t move, and I tell her that dead thingswill always be dead. Why are they dead, then? she asks,stricken and sic.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/temerity/1167976/ I think I'm tired. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/temerity/1165748/