eglantine > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

Only schizophrenic roses revel in the broken air on these nocturne streets: in some window a silhouette and summer-jazz clarinet. Hands jutted ..

I. Man and woman, young and in sweaters loose enough to let their skin breath, cross Church street. The man's arms barely sway, like stiff grass..

Sounds like baby teeth in an African rainstick. she murmured over the precise clicking of her knitting needles from the whicker rocking chair b..

There are pressed violets within the cracked surface of this street and early moonlight rolls along the smoking buildings. Birds convulse like..

This is ink and that is paper; the world is a nursery rhyme-- forget the words, you taste of feathers. If the moon got confused and didn't lie d..

My skin is glossifying to the same shade of sheen in my Vogue magazine. It could be from all of the honey I've been rubbing down my esophogus or ..

I lost my words the night I turned twenty-two. They were cupped in my hands and I blew on them--they scattered like feathers and the candles scre..

I was naked except for the jellyfish ghost-light of glow-stick bracelets wrapped around my arms as I sat in the bathtub, wrapped in loose dark, an..

I'm dancing along the curve of these words, arching my heart up to the sun-- and my soul is burning in bright. Watch me imitate language--my bo..

Sometimes it's best to sit on a stone ledge and feed the world bread crumbs. Often, we don't recognize our own reflection in the sky because we're ..