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Two poems by Daniel Edward Moore

Hey, Future


is that you / in the moment /

a Buddhist might love / enough to hyperventilate /

or the day’s dizzy spin /of 24 hours /

kicking joy / to the curbs / of chaos /

blessed by Hallmark’s / square stoic faces /

wearing X’s / like Charlie’s girls / I love /

the day ending / at the grave /of my throat /

gagging on punishment’s / need for praise /

for allowing like you have / the word gay in school /

to become / a banned book / in Florida /

how long / before beauty / plots its revenge /

for singing / the children away/ make me a rag /

of poisonous fumes / listen to the suffering fade


I Heard Music


sadly praised

for how the body’s latest song,

a ballad softly howling,

arranged the lips

with minor chords, like

flowers on the train’s cold tracks,

crushed for needing light

the way a shark does flesh.


What we fail to own

eats us and our unsung lives.

Trembling, it was

obvious more notes

were breaking through.

You wrapped your hands

around my neck.

You called me your guitar.



Daniel Edward Moore lives in Washington on Whidbey Island. His poems have appeared in Western Humanities Review, Southern Humanities Review and others.  His work is forthcoming in The Meadow, The Chiron Review, Delta Poetry Review, Book of Matches and Drunk Monkeys. He is also an editor for The Rockvale Review. His book, “Waxing the Dents,” is available from Brick Road Poetry Press.

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