http://slow.writerscafe.org/robtheoleander The original writings of author Cameron en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776002428 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 If love is the answerdid i ask the wrong question?maybe i should've askedwhat it smells like on mt. vesuviusas your feet begin to slip on the rocksor why movie montages of derelict travellook so clear andposed?Maybe i need to stop asking questions altogetherand, insteadlipread the conversations of -.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/1861457/ I don't see the world as garbagemaybe more likea postcard of the grand canyondropped into the snowand pocketed by the homeless manmartyyou know the onehe sleeps, eats, cries, bleeds in the same patch of snowunder the balcony next to yourswaiting for a fistful of changesomething to cross his vis.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/1861455/ we often see ourselves as impostersbut I the mostI thinkliving someone else’s lifeon the edge of a cliffhow could they want me enough to keep holding onto graze my back with their fingersto stop me from jumping?It’s like I’m the backroom of an old houseI’m barely used bu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/1827598/ the way you see mewhen i meet a man i often wonder why i call him a manwhen later he’ll sit on that old couchred but not really anymoreand say i’m a girl that he met earliera girl that seems too excited about shapesin the skylooking like different shapesin the skyand when i meet a m.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/1695428/ A parody of the poem "Pittsburgh" by James Allen Hall http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/1468428/ in third grade the boy who picked his nose on the swings asked my teacher what sadness was she stared at him, giving him a look like she knew he was too old to ask these questions but she also knew the kid who picked his nose on the swings wasn't the kind of kid who would care.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/1246274/ our friendship started with the backhanded excuse of povertyfor years and years i believed you to be the mary sue of realitypulling yourself up from nothing like a shadow standing on its own two feetyou had a face like the sunshine that polluted our vision after closing the backd.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/1246271/ the last time I saw you you had cut the patches off your denim jacket. I was not unaware that the future had already happened because five years ago i was living in the past. still, it caught me off guard. you gave me a lump sum of your life that began and ended with your children's ac.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/1246270/ When I sit in my dining room watching the walls move the skypainted out of focus just behind my eyes I realize my view of my life is just a couple inches in front of me and I had never noticed the grime ahead, just a few fingerspast.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/1018675/ She kissed a soft forehead as my tears fell across sandpapercheeksUnrelenting disguise, her spirit always calling from meAnd those menThose men who spew theories and never forgive theirunreliable member,They cultivate the cul-de-sac and twine their bones.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/964490/ Repentance,repeatedUntil we areall lambs in the eyes of godSo gravityfailsAnd the pathto him becomes the whitewashed wallsOf thehallway between death and its rowAnd thepedophiles run rampant amongCancer-riddenchildren, fever high with.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/964488/ She is twoyears oldAnd playingwith firetrucks and steam enginesSitting kneedeep in Barbie doll-clothesCrayon waxmixed with the sweat on her fingertips Now,Bottle topsto bottle necksHer bodydressed for nakednessNow, theCra.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/964485/ later, when her brow furrows the straps of her tank top puddled across her spineinterrupting the celestial landscape dotting her backshe realized she had just spent her first time knocking knees with a strangerand she watched him sleep under her .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/964464/ Undifferable in existenceBeak hung low, parallelograms guarded by colorReflected by lightTranceived, transferredSymmetry in geometryOne simple tuft of unassuming obscurityI fly away http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/802263/ And you levitateSo slowlyThat your tongueLaps across the night skyPulling the stars from theDark, sticky universe and Replacing them withTears that never got a chanceTo fall from wistful eyesOn a listless faceIn a shameful collapse Once you reach .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/749255/ Watch your bassoh manoh, manyou pull from the stem of existence an idea of a women's fantasydark moments set in stoneso crudely drawn andunbelievably shallowthat's why it's fleshy deepnot heart-pulling deepnot liver-dancing deep STAY ASLEEP cuz oh cuz your socke.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/722636/ Clingto a bulletInyour battered lungAndthink of the mothers sitting at homeWiththeir daughters&perusing home maker catalogs with SexyNO NEVERMINDOlivegreen frumpy aprons and shoesAndthe children groaning in the kitchenOhyou’re bitchin&rsquo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/708247/ You’rea window soaked in cosmic lightYoupush through unbreakable glassYetthe productivity you supply is still so crassWe’reall scratching our palms over the waxy floorTobe within distanceYourdistanceBecauseyour glow is the cause of frecklesAnds.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/708244/ I used to write about DelewareThe state somewhere out in the oceanWhere the long arms of unadulterated government can’t reachit. Or in the middle of a large dessertSo nobody comes to visitI used to write about DelewareAnd people would stareAt my crescent-mooned im.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/robtheoleander/708243/