http://slow.writerscafe.org/jjtrosclair The original writings of author Jonathon en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775406959 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Seek Lizi,Nodded-head of the woman’s juryIn flame on her balcony,All of them midtowned by Vaguest laughter as if her goodbye to Sunset Park could erase their own historiesOf the molten cityThey gather against you, recallingyour obsession on the rack, a freedom in the island’s honeymoon o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/2073126/     I live in the sugar and heat-rot of ten second videos,          come here ritually to experience a sense of time loss turning surreal at uneven speeds through my own crackling horizon on the beach, a sun-spotted vision that thou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/2054973/ The Archercall back the rolling horrorthese are the same braided waters that piledlilac on the shoreline in evening-time every eveningto form visions of yourselfin a different life, how you’dbeen other ways in other timesmaybe found out these needed truths sooner.the archer looks upon your fig.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/2038175/ I did not light up when he stepped out of the uber. The sight of him under the night-rain did not change me into a good queen against the weight of all likelihood. Inside the restaurant he was slightly clumsy and talked about his time in California, the big trees, the flailing acting auditions. He .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/2007205/  Now is the season ofYour joyIn which you walk freelyAmong the mollusks and yawning waterways inA china town weekend.  You are mocked,And do see the humor in it.These are broken sunrises, purplebloodedMemories of her face cutting amazed into the Slatlight of the old bedroom.Shaky mornings .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/1965144/ Spring She is furtive and worksYour heart with ease,a low glowing girl inFishnet, winged eyes in theBar every night then the silverFlux of lunar light on jean jacketWhen she dips out to stride toThe waiting car upon corroded-brickpavement, shiveringth.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/1915578/ She is furtive and worksYour heart with ease,a low glowing girl inFishnet, winged eyes in theBar every night then the silverFlux of lunar light in jean jacketWhen she dips out to stride toThe waiting car upon corroded-brickpavement, shiveringthough it is warmone gin or one champagne stored,carried, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/1912572/                 Feetdangling over the bay, “I want to listen to the kind of jazz they play atBarnes and Nobles,” which I took to be some sly dig, but toward whom I couldn’tsay. I stood behind her, sort of squinting at the sun over .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/1815023/ FoalMrs. Greene usedto model for Victoria’s Secret, butthe boys, in an act of decency almost inconceivable for their age, decide tokeep it, yes, a secret. Of the two that know, it’s Miller who feels like he canstare out of the window in Biology without consequence now. The knowle.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/1656214/ Let’s        see,Vodka on the beach, and four days without council or train, drinking gibsonsAs teething sang them from the sky, the islewhite birds who all of themhad once been young girls, Before they met with, were turned by Latona from youth into feathers,&nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/1628081/ The boy lay still and bleeding in the gravel parkinglot beneath a night sky that, on this night especially, called up words like“firmament” and “empyrean” with the deep comeliness of its contrast. That ofthose pinhole smatterings of light and the black shroud they seeme.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/1549307/  She doesn’t drinkMilk when a full moon is comingOr feel drivento give money to the public radioWhen they ask for it twice yearly  the campus oaks droop the same in the gloom of the rain on Saturday anywayAs though they were an older peopl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/1539903/  Come up bleary now inThe dust-tufted sunlight shallow The four toes you left in the wake in the water at Lake Martin. Light looks about the roomin the Blue Moon,You look back:You were conceived on a beachTwenty-four years ago and can remember it... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/1444487/ Look! the copse that’s sleeping inside of you, overflown persistent cough,and all that medicine purging terror in your spun head.I’ve gone quite stupidly drunkinto the riverbed again, Scuzzy,you mainecoon, deep uponour hale and holy bloom you’re in a beauti.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/1121236/ It's 8am at therim of the hemlocks;this side of the world rollsand Sarah's wilted,has gone out seeking agonyflorid as she mighta thin hearth stain on her cheek broadcasted round to other-sided napein that she once knewand a knowing is a keeping,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/891693/ It was midmorning when he achieved the top of the hill andlooked back at the tree line in search of movement. There had been the sound ofanother, but now there was nothing. The brush curled at the feet of thehemlocks purred in the wind. He watched a few leaves lilting to the ground.Nothi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/832116/ light's rapacity presentat the gloaming andshadow of a lawn chairstretched out on the wild grass;sky's vivid,not imitating but alludingto the surgical whitenessthat screams "not yet"at first quarter-turnof REM cycle, like a ripping and a means.warm's nothingness gone, lifted like the morning fog(the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/821398/              It was midmorning when he achieved the top ofthe hill and looked back at the tree line in search of movement. There had beenthe sound of another, but now there was nothing. The brush curled at the feetof the hemlocks purred in the wind. He watche.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/797411/ Around towering rock Alpine came into view from the inside of the small truck, sparse and dull as the expanse around it. The only beacons it offered up were the pinpoint glints from the tin roofs reflecting the sun that twinkled at them from below. Kingsley sat in the passenger seat wearing collare.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jjtrosclair/754724/