Tim Lion > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

Time, I guessed, is man’s most profound device for self torture. you disagreed, as the alarm clock shattered our morning whispers, dogs be..

cool wind baptism. thin bones expand until tired flesh is wornlike a clingy pink evening gown. the heart-song swims like midnight fog, in, t..

pretty kitty saboteur skulled my Don Quixote heart like arsenic stew with a metal baseball bat thud on the backside; she Vangoed my puffy carto..

I can only ponder how many other people in this tangled ball of wires, pictures, words, meat and bones feel this deeper pain. at night, the frig..

she slid into the mysterious light that taunts from just beyond the skyline, the only fertile plain of my dried and cracked Pangaea now drifts..

even when the soul bleeds rot, and the mind becomes a blackhole, a breath of night jasmine buries stinking dead moments in the fragrant living l..

half-smile, cigarette, lip twitch, collision! behold the crash dummy carnage of the attack of a misfired question: lexical incisors punctur..

To Hell with the Dogs of War Wildfire days, Beneath the blooded screams of a bludgeoned era, A mob of egotistical bears and intellectual lambs C..

He was crying. Busted eight ball eyes hemorrhaging tarry decades of dammed up shame and festered meanness. That scratchy granite face I’d alway..