http://slow.writerscafe.org/moellerj The original writings of author Jacob L. Moeller en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776393044 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 We will find you fickle friend where the grass parts ways for snakes and where wealthy women make talk of the men who feed them- dressed in summer colors with matching drinks and cackled laughter, we will find you in.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/807493/ handsmeant for crayons and otherhandsare made to cradle pistols in graveyards hauntedby nursery rhymes and glassshardsmasses of shrapnel wrapping around theneck of hope hang the eyes ofa childreminders of another lover lost beneath .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/805087/ A tired neon signflickersOPEN�" the cigarette buttsstillsmoking act as signalfiresfor the lonely who needhidingand the restless lying inwaitfor another break ofdaylight which might seep throughthe wind.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/800520/ Adaughter's dance on daddy's toesshows no one knows thesteps like she does. She’sbeen waiting withbated breath,her babyblue dress billows behind asfine leather shoesmove her throughtheroom smoothly. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/800519/ You wear the word forgiveness on your chestin thick black ink.When I ask if it ever hurts,you say only when you forget.The world has taught you things,mostly all the hard way- you’ve got bumps and bruises,scars where they hit the hardest.But you do your best to live up to that mark on y.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/798580/ Children huddle in frontof glowing TV boxesand are told to prayby pale godless peoplethat look like cigarettes. Hatred is hard to comprehendat this age. So is god. So instead some stare ator throughor into the scene before themand feel happyto be here-huddled in this corner, in this classroom, far a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/797940/ The old pawnbroker rarely stopped drinking. He'd get to the bottomof a bottleand break it. He fiddled with forgotten wedding rings-collecting limp hand shakes and memoriesand money. He bore his dusty grandfather clock facelooked like a long rough roadlost amongst starsand moonshine. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/797143/ I can tell you the sound a heart makes as it's breaking.I can tell you what it's like to find light in the eyes of a child.I can tell you the difference between now and thenbut I'd rather take time to show you instead. The lines on my palms have long been mistaken for razor blades.But there's.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/797142/ Imagine:Dreams and Deception pitching tents-riding the fence that splits the differencebetween you and me. The grass has grown too greenand the sky too blueto do what needs doing.But it's okay to pretend.       Sometimes. We will dance this danceand walk the line&#20132.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/797141/ A daughter's dance on daddy's toesshows that no one knows the stepslike she does.    She’s been waiting for this. Baby blue dress billows behindas fine leather shoes move hersmoothly through the room,   she was born for this. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/797140/ Broken butterfly wings cling to and sing from the fabric you’ve use to patch the holes in your heart. The souls of your bare feetshare beats with your holy heartand they dance like shooting starson the rooftops of love and loss.         &nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/797139/ Broken butterfly wings cling to and sing from the fabric you’ve use to patch the holes in your heart. The souls of your bare feetshare beats with your holy heartand they dance like shooting starson the rooftops of love and loss.         &nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/797138/ I sit and cower for hours and hours,powerless and lost in the waterfall that’s found me,that dances all around me and hounds mefor the answers to questions I’m not allowed to read. But as soaps and suds flood between my toetips,I’ll try to build ships from my memoriesand wage war o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/797137/ Alone in the back of a bussits a tragically wasted train-wreck.Her name is Alison. Seduction and Sin have tattooed themselvesunderneath her skin,and the only thing she can do is scratchand scratch again,until she finds what it is she came here for. The sunlight through the windowpanestains he.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/797136/ Your bright eyes say take me there,your skin says you don't care where.Your hair tells me you're caught up in spider webs,and you said that every morning-after you make your bedwith the heavy-leaded sheets your grandmother gave you,in order to save you the trouble of tripping on wasted memories. You.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/797135/ I want to put my pen to your paperand make words with you.Bursting from the bottoms of my bootstraps,and flapping like the bats that live in my basement,erasing any sign of solitudeand filling in the empty spots.Rolling off my tongue and slipping into your ear,crippling your fears and dancing.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/797133/ We were born in the space between poems,and our home is a place known for never saying noto the word beautiful. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/moellerj/797132/