Behind the cafeteria dumpster
on a humid April night, I was
knighted by the fierce ones,
Random Boy of Sorrows.
It was the height of adolescence,
and my hormones love of bombs
ticked in every word I said
about manhood’s coming silence.
The pain I felt was hunger for the
pieces that were missing, like a
Trumpeter Swan trusting the mud
to feed its fragile young.
As the skin changes from pink
to green the ground will need
for a painting of the wounded,
decay’s benevolent art is made.
May the ground be soft as lips
closed on horrors never spoken.
May we live and love shamelessly
this dark lizard lounge of a world.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 28, Issue 1.
Daniel Edward Moore lives in Washington on Whidbey Island. His work has appeared in Southern Humanities Review, North American Review, and more. His book, Waxing the Dents, is from Brick Road Poetry Press.
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