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		<title>Brad Nugent | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/bradnugent</link>
		<description>The original writings of author Brad Nugent</description>
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		<copyright>Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org</copyright>
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			<title>Repressed Anima</title>
			<description>beneath the eavesa spider caresses her youngwith careless abandon&amp;nbsp;casting them out on gossamerto random destination&amp;nbsp;slender threads of salvation&amp;nbsp;	(the father was eaten)&amp;nbsp;a boy waits behind glassan eye loweringgloweringsquinting out to clarifya middle perspective&amp;nbsp;watching wave..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bradnugent/2816148/</link>
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			<title>Postmortem Recognitum</title>
			<description>what do we doabout the crow that criesat the cross of dawnperched on the vergepicking bare the bonesof the night beforehe guides a sighto the gentle riseand fallof herturnedspinesnaps on a faceall seemly eyesand crooked smilehis firmflat handsslap downthin airthree timesthis cannot beallowed to rise..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bradnugent/2816138/</link>
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			<title>Beach Quest</title>
			<description>mapping the shorelinein unsteady incrementshalf-sunk footprintsa clumsy metricfor navigating grainsthreshed to a fractionthen salt-sodden doublefoam-flecked shadeswashed awaythose remnant imprintsnever really wandered farand yet too far to find the wayto reinvent and start againwhere they left off b..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bradnugent/2815981/</link>
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			<title>Handover Day</title>
			<description>when she is goneI can still feel her clingingso I clutch her cosy blanketand I watch her favourite episodesand I mirror-echoher self-soothe swayingand I count too slowlythe sleeps to gowhen we lack the ruby red slipperswe always want to find a way home</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bradnugent/2815790/</link>
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			<title>Leaves By The Roadside</title>
			<description>dead leaves lie crumpledkerbside at middayhuddled in silent heatcause and effectthe many tumbledspiritedas onefrom a crumbled bunkera bleak retreatyet another apartand alone remainedgrasping star-edged and stoicto grim and bloody battle dirtheroicfrozensun-blindsun-staineda tricycle wheel spursflutt..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bradnugent/2815473/</link>
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