http://slow.writerscafe.org/DonDuquette The original writings of author DonDuquette en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775429908 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Down at the bottom where the darkness sleeps,there's wayward souls and they're reaching for me.Beneath the surface where the Devil reigns,he's eying me up and he's fitting my chains.Just passed heaven, I'll be drunk at the bar.Tell Saint Peter I can't get in that car.There's broken angels calling ou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DonDuquette/1311253/ This is a rare happy poem. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DonDuquette/1311251/ I'm full to the brim, with that lonely again.Whiskey genie trades wishes for all of my sins.I've all but forgotten where I set the mark,And I only will seek you out after the dark.The rot of the city, still stinging my nose.Sow seeds in the gutter to see what it grows.Worry plucks branches from fami.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DonDuquette/1311250/ The sizzle of a matchstick, like the sound of a kill.Brings scavengers hoping for the scraps of your thrill.Your breath is still stained with that cigarette smoke,and you're beautiful now that your heart's been all broke.Lust for the days of your glorious youth,when love wasn't sold from a peddler's.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DonDuquette/1311248/ Apparently, the clean road only serves one.And I, the banner man of well-fed starving artists,takes a bow and a torch to the house of love.Plucks the eye of every star-crossed lover.We were friends once, at the river's delta.And of course, the course led us astray.There were forks everywhere, but no.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DonDuquette/1311247/ Alone, I sit and stir my thoughts into a violent storm.And drip acid from my pen-tip to keep the paper warm.Within the snow a flower grows, frost nipping at it's roots.But I wilt it with ice fingers, I cannot bear to see it's fruits.There was a poem you told me once, and hid it in the wind.You whisp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DonDuquette/1311246/ In the brief, fleeting moments between sleep and waking, I felt you this morning.It was the sweet cold breeze that rouses warm sleep.A gentle kind of bitter that made me resent flat pillowcases,and threads that should hold captive your hair.The air lacks a scent that speaks of your presence,and know.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DonDuquette/1311243/ Increasingly we are becoming too much like our technology. Jon is one of these iHumans, constantly plugged into his phone and devoid of human interaction, that is until he meets Daisy. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DonDuquette/1311224/