Jeffrey McDaniel

Rookie (1967 / Philadelphia, Pennsylvania)

Jeffrey McDaniel Poems

1. Survivor's Glee 2/14/2008
2. Meeropol 2/14/2008
3. Ethel's Lament (Ethel Rosenberg) 2/14/2008
4. Hunting For Cherubs 2/14/2008
5. Objectivity 2/14/2008
6. For The Artist Who Paints My Balls Fifty Shades Of Blue 2/14/2008
7. The Forgiveness Parade 2/14/2008
8. The Day It Rained Splinters 2/14/2008
9. Boner Etiquette 2/14/2008
10. Boss Of The Nethers 2/14/2008
11. Arrivederci Lipstick 2/14/2008
12. The Jeffrey Mcdaniel Show 2/14/2008
13. The Obvious 2/14/2008
14. 1977 2/14/2008
15. Day 29, Where The Self Divides 2/14/2008
16. The Secret 2/14/2008
17. First Person Omniscient 2/14/2008
18. When A Man Hasn'T Been Kissed 2/14/2008
19. Disasterology 2/14/2008
20. Friends And High Places 7/14/2005
21. The Offer 7/14/2005
22. Technology 7/14/2005
23. The Boy Inside The Turtle 7/14/2005
24. Air Empathy 2/14/2008
25. Alibi School 7/14/2005
26. Letter To The Woman Who Stopped Writing Me Back 2/14/2008
27. Mannequin Complex 7/14/2005
28. The Jerk 2/14/2008
29. 1975 2/14/2008
30. Where Babies Come From 7/14/2005
31. The Benjamin Franklin Of Monogamy 7/14/2005
32. Renovating The Womb 7/14/2005
33. The Biology Of Numbers 7/14/2005
34. Absence 7/14/2005
35. The Archipelago Of Kisses 7/14/2005
36. The Quiet World 7/14/2005
Best Poem of Jeffrey McDaniel

The Quiet World

In an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn't respond,
I know she's used up all her words,
so I slowly ...

Read the full of The Quiet World

The Offer

I want to locate a bit of you, cradle it,
say: this, there is no word for this.

But they will. They who name everything
will define our actions
as we auction our bodies off to sleep.

In our single dram we'd compose
a manifesto on the irregularity of scars.

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