http://slow.writerscafe.org/pkuhl The original writings of author p.kuhl en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776031713 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 I. LessonsYou get very sleepy at times,like lazy autumn, and the dayslight the old sea of the past, and,well,just across the roadis far. When you are getting onin years, listen to the fire. Readmore. More like a mysticof perception. Getting on in years,indeed, I will say, sipping a glassof.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1360988/ I won't pretend to knowwhat sad, slow days look likethrough the semi-transparent blueof your brown eyes, but I imaginethey grow up your spine in secrecy,like vines from a very tall, very old tree,as you flick fire ants off your loose roots.There must be something I could sayabout you.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1336328/ He exhales endlessly, from the top of his smiling head and out, too, from rightwhere his hands would be if he had them, wavingat every angle so not even a single bladeof grass feels unrecognized, unloved.If you watch his floppy dance long enough,you might begin to see the repetitive natu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1336325/ 1000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 I 000000000000000000000000000000000 can 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000see 00000000000000000000000001 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1336322/ Every year at some goodtime for all of us, wegather at a long tableto serve up a sacrifice.The butter knives are dull enough to make slicing down our tough spinesdifficult, needless to say--we make a mess. But it isn'tour carpet, this long tableisn't ours. We still laugh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1336319/ Winter's arrival http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1283993/ We learn it rightfrom the start. Some peoplemight say we crash into lifeas parasites, tetheredto our motherswith a rubber hose,but those people forgetthat parasites diewhen their teeth are removedfrom the soft biteof swollen breasts.We do not crash. We explode from nothing,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1278073/ There isn't a breathin the air that could liftmy hand from yours, here,in the warm hug of a cat-hat with mittens attached.The frantic swarm of lightslikes you especially. I seethe way they rip you apart,--much like the way you would imagine--a sea of angry firefliestear.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1275547/ At first, Kelseywas all bright. She woreher window highlike her hair, upand doing thingsthat shook my twelve-years-crooked knees.Kelsey,everyone in Chippewa Twoenvied you. Everyone of us, well,we wanted to take youto the Thursday Danceto whisper fake secretsand make the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1270581/ Aubrey, your curtains are drawn.I can see you spinninga clover between your thumband index like a tiny helicopter.Its twisting green windslift the ends of your darkhair, pulling your heels in static alignment like a figurehead.Aubrey, my little inspiration,take heart. Bring in my l.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1269027/ I've been wading in my girlfriend's coffee.My life is not a sitcom.I'm sorry I found a New Year's kiss.I am free to go like third place.Today I stand with the boys.Together we must throw the street.Your mom swims out to grow young.What's wrong with airports?Watch the ho.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1267555/ There I go,down boulevards on lunch breaks,filing myself between dropped scoopsof ice cream and drooped eyes; I godrooling along the promenadeas a prizesteams like steak at the finish line. This is a temp job, at best.I have thirty-five minutes tosave my soul with some morsel of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1267063/ I have spent years in the tiny roomof my life, etching linesin the floorwith bed-frame claws. I inject ink into the cracksof my cell walls, I dragempty body-bagsinto the closetto hang thembeside my Sunday best.My tiny roomsways at the topof a forgotten Christmastree lik.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1262137/ Put on my face,test my string.Open the door wide.I am God, la de dah.Curve my toes,pounce.Break the sky.I am God, la de dah.Sing sweet sparrow,O, dive low.Punch the garden.You are love, la de dah.Pull off my face,rip out the string.Look inside.I am love, la de dah.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1261536/ I prayed today.The cold hug of my tubfilled with screaming, warm water,so I pulled my kneesto my eyes as Godbaptised me. I tried cryingbut my tears were swallowedby the drain.I thought of Anne.I thought of her small coughsand her small loves.I leaned forwardto see the water r.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1260637/ Surely no oneis more suited than the fruitof that tangled Waiting Treeto love the traveling healeracross his greatleapsin timejust waitingfor the curious case of that twistingtragedy to converge.You are a Songof stars, a conception, a counter-clockwise clock, you are Slee.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1259618/ Swells of a language strangefluctuate like a dude on a sick wave; the stagesplinters like a ribcage, inhalingyour sighs. Of the unforgiving children, the yellow, the flies in balcony solitude, this opera tells usnothing, but under the growing musicit sweeps your dusty hairswishswis.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1256238/ I am, well, fedup with the slop in this wide trough, the grey-green stew like rubber-cement that slugsdown my highway tonguelike flat, charcoal tires; I want cake, not bread, and hot fondue to melt my head so some sweet-toothed Jezebel will mistake mefor square cheese or a strawberryand ingest. See,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1252772/ Gruesome veinsburied beneath the cityeat what we eat. Wefeel the ground around us shakein pity or simply digestionthe manifest destiny:"we eat what we eat"for the conquest of freedomand freedom.Headlight beamsfloat high above the cityand then suddenlyalso a pilot-light stre.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1249861/ Bad poetry challenge! http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1249009/ One pale white cloudy cross liessideways, cutting a clean cornerinto the indigo sky like an arrowpoisoning ink with milk; it resonatesthrough its permanent Novembercourtyard as if Sunday bells were crows, it feeds on fumesfrom sinners lips, bellowinglike supernova cat-callsaway fro.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1248753/ Just a thought, growing. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1248403/ I am here most days because the thought of being home makes me anxious. I can sense its weight pulling me from across Henderson through Bryan Park and into the mug in my hands, but it isn't fearful, it won't win, so I am here watching people read and drink coffee and have uncomfortab.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1243847/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1243824/ The successful man is carefulnot to hit the creak in the seventh step as he ascendswith perfect posture and a handon the banister. I am notas slick, I arpeggiatewith lunges up two, threeat a time, no timeto appreciate the thick woodprecipice below my bare feetand if I should sl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1242901/ I should warn youwhile it doesn't stab, depressionlike pneumonia will eventually dissolveits host (there is no pivot pointin the strategy). It snows over your bloodlike insecticide and leaves a filmof rotten peaches on the sofa.If left unshoveled, the soft mound is boundto fester and.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1239535/ Companion to "black lace" http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1237646/ I close my eyes, I rocket from my sockets into the fractal skyand when I find myself, I mean way out theredeep in space, in the dark blue silenceI will contemplate the science between man and that which is not man, likehow like trees we are, how patienttrees must be to live in such a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1232834/ your loose lace skirt sifts the night lightits pattern, roses black with crowds but white with anxious generations and when I say night it's for the poetry of itbecause it is mid-afternoon and the skirtis really made of metaland chimes like Sunday when you danceI see your huge portrait.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1231725/ IYou are a plastic bagsucked into a street-drainpressed like gravity against its iron teethlike water torture in a summer shower.You were never meant to swimor drown or think but rather to carryrelics, to hold them and then releasethem when their weight would otherwiseoverwhelm y.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1225600/ I had grown bored one afternoonso I decided to get out the old keyboardthat a friend had lent me (I am pretty surethe thing is broken, but I haven't told him yet because it was expensive and I'd rather playdumb) and I unzipped the professional-lookingblack bag and looked inside.It wa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1224573/ While the car coughs, idlein front of my house, I fishfor a lighter. I squint as the spacebetween two flakes of snowwidens and separates, and the sound of itflicks away like the last flint clickof the dead lighter in my hand. I needsome fire, or at least some butaneif I am ever going.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1223845/ Mystic wandering beast, you must be tiredor mad to dance this way. Can you seeyour own pupils receding into specksin the sea of your blue eyes? Would you turnthese silent tears into spirits, great beast,so they may slip unnoticed into pinched lipsand intoxicate...social lubricant, tame t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1222323/ The night Josie asked me about the linesin a particular poemthat I wrote when we were more fresh, I recall;she wondered if they were about anyoneshe knew. I felt her handtug the air by my knee, and I swearI saw her mouthing wordslike you usually dowhen you think you know the wordso.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1219206/ I've been workingon a vapor;it took years to gatherthe precise plasmas and miscellaneous compoundsand even longer, the courageand here, under the moth-eye moonmy spine expands, my bite extends,I sharpen. I can smellyou, little one, unawareand plump, and as my eyesfade to yellow, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1213150/ I followed you, Spider, through the jagged cadenceof your disdain and onto an asymmetrical platformwhere you learned my real name, Little Moon,and where I felt normal in my waning condition.In that place you would leak into my apexand fall asleep while I contemplated suicideand whether I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1205817/ I want Washington.I glide like ziplineover rubber glassconcrete and limestone.My hands and wrists fuseto my headset, laced intothe frame and beatinglike my piston legs.I am razor thinand sharper than everand I may breakthe law at every corner. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1201831/ why do we wear black when it sorts usall the same? and why do we dress with such traumaand weight, to project ourselves to the outside world as those lucky few who have experiencedloss and intrigue, pain, at the cost of near-perfect dream-like happiness made real by you? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1201816/ I keep on giving out pieceskeep on giving them out.How many pieces? How many more til I white out?Hey, take your clothes offlet me operate, I want to beclear, I want the next oneto see right through meall the way out of townwaving goodbye with a middle finger.I want the next time.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1198925/ If no one likes horrible peoplethen thank God for horrible people. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1195549/ There is an antstanding atop his hillthe ancestral brass shellcatching flints of fire from the sunand then this antburns like the priestand rolls like thunderlighting the city where no one sleeps http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1190434/ I lost my little light below the blue lagoonand twisted pointy fingers in between my ribsYou gave your little light to me, and in returnI keep you here inside my heart forever more http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1188472/ that left us thereelevated like balloons on the runbut what choice did we have? even moths fly away from that placedusting what little light the night skyprovides, awkward white rocketships freeto take their deserved reposewe will wear these clothesin the morning http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1186939/ I give some f***s:I wear clothesI eat regularlyI make waste in (mostly) one convenient spotI turn oxygen into food for plantsI provide for mosquitos in JulyI feed my cats twice a dayI find pleasure in leisureI pay my bills (mostly)I have billsI engage in languageI dissect air.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1180622/ Pretty girl, you've got bills to payand whiskey on your breathYou're too good for these cigarettesthat you plucked from your boyfriend's pocketbut I'll be with you, pretty girlsneaking out so the reapers won't find youThe record is spinning angrilyand you claim you don't know why you.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1173659/ When I pick up a pencilI can't help but thinkof perspective & right nowI am leaning against a studybuddy, the stale save screen buzzof the TV illuminating the room, the doorcoyly ajar across from me. I make noteof things I can see without moving my eyestoo quickly, appreciating them .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1173602/ Little fate passed away late last nightat a tender age in the OrchardThe salty grass grows long and longerThe calendar with maple leavespricks pins of the old and olderOur friends stripping trees of their barksnapping bites from the windOur enemies in the clockslip out unnoticedsingle filewrapped in.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1164013/ Heads abuzzA fly catches a syncopationOf the hi-hat, tsssSizzles like twists on the strawYou sip. The dance beginsTo spin out of smokeBlown blue by red lipsHeads abuzzAnd I'm thinkingThis floor is slithering, tsssSo I'll slide tooExcuse me, missYour gravity's showing...Lo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1160111/ I dream in shutter-speeds, in flashesof massive clustered trees, bombardedby telescopic tropical palm breezegalaxies, entrusted with topical handcreams, the crust of the man in betweenthese sheets. I know I'm dying. I sawit coming while I was flying, runningfrom piles of raw, bleak sig.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1160055/ Tear away my jaw, God, and let the liquid goldspill out on the lawn like a broken spigot.Polish off my bones, God. Your diamond-finehands are all I know, so grind them into dust.Build me a house, God, and if I don't find peacethere let me tear it down and curse your light.Let me de.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pkuhl/1160040/