Matthew Clough > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

I glimpsed my future when the fog rolled in and I killed myself on the concrete divider, doing 117 in the rain. There were Ju..

I watch my mother through the sliding glass door. She’s standing at the chipped kitchen counter in her flour-speckled red checkered a..

You are an artist, or at least you were once, in the high school days. You bent thin wire into lions, sketched an eye draped in shado..

I’m as bitter as the coffee I drink at sunrise, as begrudging as the stars vanishing in flame, as desperate as the moon to remain in bl..

You’re descending the stairs in a simple black dress, your right hand gliding along the wooden bannister. “I’m leaving now, ba..

There’s a man in a turban on the corner. He is juggling three bowling pins, all striped like peppermint candy canes. And I pause fo..

what if flowers were made of petals and in them were infinite loops of fractal mathematics we can’t comprehend because we all major..

I think in poetry, each notion a line from an unknown poem, one I haven’t written, one I never will. My heart does what it ..

F**k, she mutters, as the green burns out, and the sun starts to rise, blinding the eyes of the weary. S**t, she murmurs, as ..