http://slow.writerscafe.org/mollyaldrich The original writings of author Molly Aldrich en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776051783 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 After Our Valley by Phillip Levine. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/mollyaldrich/774359/ My hair is a blonde whip,you told me. My teeth are gargoyles,the guardians of breath, but more beautiful than a gargoyle’s stone dreams.Why do we love the dead things most?My hair but not my blood, my teeth but not my breath,find their way into your poems.I haven’t the heart to.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/mollyaldrich/774358/ After Clyve played Samson by Regina Spektor on the piano in my loft. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/mollyaldrich/774356/ For Eric. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/mollyaldrich/774355/ All is fair. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/mollyaldrich/774354/ I am not a poetI am not a museI am not a lover I am not a great story told in segments by the wandering shamans.I am not written in car tires. In the grain of film strips.I am not sprayed on melancholy walls.I am not I am not I am not ana ana anaphora.I am epistrophe. I am the end. I am ch.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/mollyaldrich/774353/ For Steven, the tallest person I know. I guess the pebbles were right and we were wrong. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/mollyaldrich/774352/ The Nobody Somebodycouldn’t cup water in his handswithout it tiptoeing down his knuckles.He did not understand this.I met The Nobody Somebody on a train ridegoing going going to the red red world.He wore strawberry lace on his head. It fell before his eyes"antifreeze green. In one hand,a .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/mollyaldrich/774349/ I don’t remember muchfrom the night Mad Max died. I remember the drool on the kitchen floor from when I fellface down and didn’t bother putting my hands out to catch myself.I remember Jack touched my cracked skull.Maybe it was cracked. I can’t remember if I went to the hospita.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/mollyaldrich/774348/ he’s nothing Brian Adams sang about.She’s more Johnny Rotten’s kind of girl.When she turns on her side,canyons fall around her hip bone.She’s got liquor lips, cigarette finger tips.She says shhh, mourning doveThis don’t mean we’re in loveAs if the teeth on this be.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/mollyaldrich/774347/