http://slow.writerscafe.org/Deborah%20Hamilton The original writings of author Deborah Hamilton en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776021476 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Shemistakenly pressed against me, forgetting her last night's intentionto hate me, to hate my darkness and my dependence.Shewas a bobblehead, her sleepy wagging face raised up to kiss me.Murkinessand motion caused a squint but allowed my stare, becauseshe wanted me, right then, she.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/1849769/ "Peace"the planetdowntown! said Mother EarthGreen boysGreen bells crunchy grub gnarly flower recycler catIt threads his 60s Child out eco?! http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/1231568/  Thesparechangers huddled beneath the broken neon,Reflectingon their lost days and lives.MatchbookMolly slammed her crazy bone against a cracked kneecap,Tradedher sorrow for passion with Flat-Busted Broken-Down Sam. Crispblue-shirted slime stared and drooled at the lo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/978418/ Itcurls me. That’s disturbing enough. My body undulatesunknowingly, curling like a lip, curling with contempt, pushing mylimbs into a sneer. I move back and forth against you, pulled towardyour warm skin, repelled by your shakes and your stench. Leaninghalf of my body over the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/938999/ I didn't touch itbecause it was ugly. It was weird. It was interesting, but not somuch that I wanted to put my fingers to it. I said, "Ew,"and he slapped me. His hand hurt but it didn't stop me fromgiggling. My cheek was stinging when I ran down the stairs to thecourtyard. I always.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/938978/ Lungs moaning a sweetness with a hack, A rueful rasp and a nestling press,combined Make me wilt. I am so exhausted.Doting on me even whenI can't be silent,You never say shut upBut you hit a double bull.Solemnly drunk,Calmed as you rub my back, andIt feels nice, it fee.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/938970/ Aren’t you the flower? ExpectingtruthAnd reason as you flit in The sun.You will learn how self-servingHumanity is once you, too,Decipher your wants.Sound judgment is impossible ifOne’s hair is on fire.You may notice many dousingThemselves with lighter fluid.B.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/938963/  The beast in every woman isunlocked on some Sundays as areminder.These beasts,ferocious and sometimesunkind and distasteful,congregate with violent winds andbassists andthey are oily and darkand their mothers could never hold onlong enough to straightentheir collars n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/621369/ A friend wrote a poem using song titles (indicated by caps), as well as added words (lower-case) to round out the piece. I decided to write one using only song titles with no additional words. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/620555/  All souls touching and hummingTowards the ends of the hoursReach for some flesh,Listen to one song for themselves.Wielding their ache tamely,Caressing themselves with one last drink,As if a night so dark,It burns your eyes,A night so late,It hurts you to breathe,Cou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/619481/  DarkisanalteredshadeofblackWhereyourdemonsandyourangelsgambolaboutScammingandgigglingandcoppingfeelsof eachotherTeasingyouwith coalescedshadowsofallthat israw http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/618988/  My mother is frighteningI like herHer laugh is severeShe lashes her head backShe is a subjugating intimateMy forehead cracks when she stares at meShe’ll wheeze as she agesAnd she’ll use the word “crotch” more oftenHer comportment will be malefi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/617825/  Wondering desperately about that which will never occur,Soothing with alcohol and sex and sleep andAnything that won’t talk back when Overwrought with pathos and vice and remorse.And when chastised for inappropriate behavior,For mishandling real and imaginary crises, There .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/617822/   Run my fingers through my hair like a loverSweat slicing open paper cuts INever knew I had orForgot about.Summertime oozing sumptuous,Another lavish taste of regret toWipe from my chin, sticking the painAlmost lusciously.Takes two or three showersAnd a couple of nightc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/616452/   A bit of sleep,not necessarily the kind sort, stillsomething beyond the rips and snips of slumberland,and the aching afghan-tussle and self-sparring,past suffocation as a remedy.Any such thing as true sleep, withconsciousness lapsed by chamomile falsettos,with plum-spiced, h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/616165/   Had it been a one-night stand, it would have been perfectStars performing drunk the first act of the new lovers’ balletWaves arching their backs, easing down mildRelease constraint, never see me againHad it been a one-night stand, it would have been perfectHe packed his cl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Deborah-Hamilton/604021/