When madness stopped being mad
falling from his fist like a bone chandelier
softly my blood sang to me
a lullaby cradled by the voices of veins
like poppies breaking the mind’s pink soil
sinfully blooming in the dark with you
covered in rawhide roses with me in a harness
of white leather lilies two hybrids
shameless on a trellis of treason where petals
are gods of impermanence.
About the contributor: Daniel lives in Washington on Whidbey Island, with his wife, the poet, Laura Coe Moore. His poems have been in Spoon River Poetry Review, Columbia Journal, Cream City Review, Western Humanities Review, Phoebe, Mid- American Review, Permafrost, and others. He has poems forthcoming in Weber Review, West Trade Review, Duende Literary Journal, Inflectionist Review, Isthmus Review, Glass Mountain Magazine, Yemassee Review, Columbia College Literary Review, Cumberland River Review, The Meadow, Bluestem Magazine, Coachella Review, Conclave, and The Phoenix. His book “Confessions of a Pentecostal Buddhist,” is at Amazon. His work has been nominated for Pushcart Prizes and Best of the Net. His first book, ‘Waxing the Dents,’ was a finalist for the Brick Road Poetry Book Prize and will be released in April 2020. Checkout his more writings here..