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.
The very idea demands preparation, as if
choosing a school for an angel.
There are no angles. Just those things
blinking like the teeth of jackals
around the moon's significant tremble.
Isolate the idea of shaking our bodies
under the blank comfort of down and tell
me which way will our knuckles face?
Now shake the idea of our isolated bodies
As the sheets become our Miro.
If you stay, the walls will admit their cracks,
See it forming, already on their lips.
Jeffrey McDaniel's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Offer by Jeffrey McDaniel )
- Alesha the Cat, Steve Kittell
- Heart Broke, Vijaya mam
- Perhaps I'll See You, Abu Tammam
- A Back Seat, Elia Michael
- Love shall stand, hasmukh amathalal
- Female Author, Sylvia Plath
- Dirge For A Joker, Sylvia Plath
- The Babysitters, Sylvia Plath
- The Beekeeper's Daughter, Sylvia Plath
- Bluebeard, Sylvia Plath
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- At Last She Comes, Robert Louis Stevenson
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
- Heather Burns
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)