The Beast in Every WomanA Poem by Deborah HamiltonThe beast in every woman is unlocked on some Sundays as a reminder. These beasts, ferocious and sometimes unkind and distasteful, congregate with violent winds and bassists and they are oily and dark and their mothers could never hold on long enough to straighten their collars nor to feed them cantaloupe and cottage cheese. Petite scavengers with skillful bicuspids and around-the-world eyes, they sixth-sense everything before they plan and cabal and dive and conquer and eventually rest to eat a warm piece of pie. These beasts, almost wicked enough to harness time, are plenty sly and cause concern. Slick, wily and fierce, busting all institutions into a pants-down stance, all networks, every enterprise wrapped under furious control gut-wrenching twisters, honey, mind-benders, baby, but giving all warm embraces with savage intellect, this from every beast. Fear, shiver and be crazed when they cluster; their onslaught shall parlay ruin. There's an exhibitionist agreement amongst beasts, all unrestrained, twirling, howling, beauty from muscle and fat and veins and hair, sometimes also sitting around scratching something, maybe chewing on a cuticle, maybe eating sherbet. Beasts aren't for sale; it's been so decided. Beasts are of grace, confident, razor-witted, not doe-eyed nor faint-hearted, not when days are such as today with twenty-four hours. It's never been when push comes to shove with beasts; when glare comes to push, that push better send a beast into outer space or damn some Sunday. © 2010 Deborah HamiltonReviews
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Added on October 20, 2010Last Updated on October 20, 2010 AuthorDeborah HamiltonChicago, ILAboutThe summary: Writer/artist/activist; delights in absurdity; lives for friends and family; worships Ella the Wonder Dog; becomes giddy over cheese, Fran Lebowitz, McSweeney's, Otis Redding, and the lug.. more..Writing
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