http://slow.writerscafe.org/philliewig The original writings of author philliewig en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776300975 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Father, how our circumstances have changed.Remind me, asI'm honestly insincere;We weigh words in troy ounces,Waiting in the drone hours.Waiting within the drone hour.Father, how our circumstances have changed,Playing at sheep among the wolves.We toast to these bigger and better thingsDrinks clinked .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1396204/ My god, when they'd sayWe're all the lucky onesWhen they'll sayWe're the fortunate onesWhile here we're stigmaticBleeding to the sound of drums.We are the medicated ones;The dedicated ones,Stricken with the Seattle syndrome,Praying for heroin and heroinesAll within the confines of a shot glass.We ar.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1361959/ How I wish to be a sin eater,Here among silent facesHere in this place of a thousand sunsHere where only the wild ones grow.Here I'd wish to be a sin eater,Where neatly hung up, rows of crosses-How I'd wish to be your sin eaterWhere only white lilacs bloom,Where I'd come up for air-where I'd go and .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1327891/ Lacrimosa I-VII, The Tearful http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1324058/ Amid the yellowed flowers there,I dream of pursuit and of folly;Furrowed, furrowed,Pursuing all that was worth pursuing.     I stood there, once.     I chose to love, a little.And lying in this bed, periwinkle summer skiesFraming them all we had to offer;This dreamer of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1311588/ IAnd all these are fictions too,In rolls of film, tuberculosis gray.We recount and recall as if we were madmen,Locked away in dresser drawers and folio bins,Our black ink (-stained fingers) running down                            .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298558/ Laudatus sum, sed interfectus sum,Nunc ab hosti ipsis laudatus ero.    IWoken up in the morning, in BrugesBy the gray fuzz and afterglow, to the sound of drums-Two clicks of a light switch,Showered, filled mug, and out the doorTo greet the coming day.So go there now, in Chelsea boots,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298552/     II came out to the sacred fieldTo sing, to bathe there in the fountain,Splayed out among the flowers,I'd hope we'd lie here for a whilemusing, musing,Sipping poisons of our fate,This cruel fate.We'd lie awake in the clearing, there,While I'd look into yourBlue   Blue eyes-&nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298548/ Cheap soap, cheap girls,Strung out there against a bathroom stall.Swill cheap wine by the carpark fence,Ruminating on judgments thereAs moonlight sifts through the gloamOf evening, settled.Noon here offers a stiff breeze,Stiff drinks, at the crosswalk there,Washington and 19th,A musician cries out:&.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298546/ This is my sole release,A sweet relapse into my ownSweet    Sweet              Sweet myopic releaseInto an infinite span,An infinite brand of our own devices.Nesting in a bed of poppiesOn the sunny banks of the Rhine,I shed my skin in quick form,Slipping .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298544/ And on that grassy shoreline there,Far from all who thought they'd dare,Far from those who'd ask,    "What do you see?"  "What is truth?"While we'd grimace and patter    On     and      on       and       .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298543/ Here lay conduct in the face of whim,Therein contained within reason:                                       Caught between stimuli,                   .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298540/ Lying in an intersection, 4th and River Street,Painted in the colors of the sun.God only knows how you understand this,but you soldier on anyways,bright and brilliant like the starlight in a summer sky,shining on until the dying gale of the stars so bright,shining on until the dying wails of our sun.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298531/ How can we say that we know life,When this drink in which we partakeIs poisonous so,Turning all roses to weeds,Our rosaries to garrotes,These vines to hands, made to seekWhile we poor widows weep.Why should we beat against this turgid shorewith dry rafts of driftwood and weeds,When all we know .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298527/ We gather en masse on a dry shore,A sea of dead grass and thorns, at the dry banksAnd the doorway of a liquor store.Huddled close in this ashenLand, we 3 plague doctors, kings, Our black cloaks, silken, shimmering,Draped, swooping down like the ravenAbout to croak-Nevermind and nevermore,A.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298523/ There were no words that could pierce the light of the noon-day sere.With silent glances, we scrutinized the scene.Stage left: handshakes meant to greet brought only fears.Right, roses meant for each, kept only for those here.And yet the doom-drum beat onward in time to the turn of the gyre.What of .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298522/ Brown rain falls down to brown streetsAnd brown shingles and guttersAs a pale fog creeps around a woman on the street-corner,Her shoulders bare, her dress there in ribbons,Tied up and down in sections drownedWith velvet blood red bows.And in the parlors, against their walls,Against  red, cracke.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298520/ In daylight's fastidious oppression -96 degrees and rising- Black beetles scuttle about the smooth marble.With incestuous airs, their midnight claws diggings, clickingIn time to the silent hum of a parked car.(The lot was empty, the clergy departed, save for one.)Back and forth across a marble slab,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298518/ No words could bend the shallow tongue, the shrill pitch of their airs.Nor could any bow, curtsy, or pastiche of Nietzsche or Camus.Their eyes glaze over our sinewed figures, as we lay arm in arm on this park bench.We wish them well.We leave them lilacs and lavender on their doorstep, and depart. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298517/ There's a certain flavor of psychosis,Of strawberry wine, ofGrapples and oranges.Ascertaining this quality,This condiment of hubris,By men in white coattailsAnd brown labcoats in dark mire,An exercise in Pyrrhicism,With one's swelled head against the wall.They guarantee you paradise in spades,And wi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298516/ Given the choice between a voice and reason,I would rather lay here in this field of lethargic dreams, nostalgic and crestfallen. Won't you lie with me? Won't you dream with me? Who else would I share this fleeting dream with?Who else would dare?Who else dares dream of the grift, of the crook in her.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298513/ Tick, tock, goes the warden's songAs the singer turns to bow, I will not dance in time to this, "If only I knew how."The player turns as if to sayWe wish to say,We wish to say,But there is nothing more to say, but nothing else is left to say.But I saw the twinkle in your eye,Those Robin's egshell bl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298511/ Standing on this waterfront lot,I am in heaven, both above and below.I am seashells in the mud, and hyacinths to rot,Both above and below.Stepping into the clearing, I am an orchid.I am a run on sentence,betrayed by my own name and inkling for superstitions.Stepping into the sea, I am an orchid.And .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298504/ I'd run errands and text-work for pushers in labcoats,But running for my prom queen tastes just as sweet.Wide-eyed, in a flashing sweat,While running your campaignFor king.Or should I run miles to Brooklyn, New York,To catch up with imbeciles, and prophesy with cats?I'd start packing both our bags,J.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298501/ I close my eyes, and look to the treesI close my eyes toBreathe.A thousand visions and revisions,fly past my sewn eyes.Eyes that would not,Could notSee what was below and above and beyond.One deep breath, and we move on.The woman told me there were no eyes here.Yet in my mind's eye,A thousand vision.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298497/ Little Johnny wept asHis hands clasped the brokenWhite toilet seat which hasShattered under the pressure.Mommy held him, mommyHeld him close to her redGaping maw, red tummy,Shattered, twice, by a gunshot."Johnny, baby, why areYour cheeks so wet, baby,Baby, so wet and farFrom my loving, tender hand?".. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298496/ "Holy Mary, mother of God."The halogen flickered asHe stood, clutching a rodOf steel and plastic.The bathroom tiles--porcelain and glass--squeaked as he swayed."...record highs in the triple digits..." they squeaked."Blessed art thou amongst women," in a rushed, hushed sigh.His voice stumbled along .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298494/ Red light in the windshield, shining off the dashboard.85 miles an hour, 10 mile an hour crosswinds. Tiny glittering shards of ice, snow!- blowing.A woman's voice from the little black box on the console, "I am no prophet-and here's no great matter".Red, red, burning bright.Eyes scanning, jumping ar.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298491/ He chose to sit outside,Cuban in one hand, mojito in the other.His eyes scanned the treeline,Giant black marbles for eyes.A songbird darted past his field of vision.He scanned the Havana treeline.A quick drag on the cigar,And the loveliest puff,Puff of smoke.Mojito in the other hand,He ran a finger .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298490/ Cigarette in hand, scotch on the rocks in the other.Ceramic knife on the countertop. Lemons freshly cut, squeezed over the tracklines, rabbitholes in his right arm.Shattered bottle in the corner. Remains of a rag, burning sensations licking at the doily, stinging on his injection sites.A bead of swe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298489/ Swimming to the bottom of an infinitesimal ocean of blue and green and white and light, three, maybe four drain spouts (positioned at regular metered intervals). 3, then 4, to 5 in the morning. Swimming with the one I love.Swimming to the bottom of an infinite ocean of blue. The sun's subtle caress .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298485/ Love stories don't really existAt least, not howWe were told they would be like.A shimmering veil, ofFine silk, gossamer wing of angels and theInspired work of gold Grecian muses.I believed it to be transcendental, divine and earthly,Parting the curtain to find-A million monkeys on typewriters.Baked.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298482/ Faintly distant, these cold eyes growing in the sunset of the dawning midnight;Changing colour hue shape form and spirit in chameleonesque fashions,As sunlight bathes the figure in shadow and shade and starlight's sublime caress-The garden, so grayed and vivid and wonderful in infinimatisimal ways i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philliewig/1298481/