Nativity Blues at the Border
The world was dark. Very dark. Political tensions were high.
He thought maybe a star. A very bright star. Could end the violence
at the border. It would have to be very particular. Like recruiting
dancers of DNA. Yet, universal as grief’s bulldozer burying hearts in heaven.
The need for intervention was clear. My offer to help accepted.
History was introduced to my lover, Lord Belt. A perfectly pierced
serpent of leather. Friendly enough to plan the reveal of beautiful
inches of ecstasy Yet, easily converts to a wrist accessory.
If holy submission transforms the bed. Into a manger scene.
Mary becomes Queen of the Prom. Making me a wise man with gifts.
Flooded By Fictions of Rescue
If you get this close to the edge of drowning
floating may seem like a dream to you
rising from beneath the sawtooth waves
where fear is just my breath god said,
helping the body stay cool and calm
before your future’s phallic vessel
arrives with screaming animals.
Fast forward to the desperately needed tsunami
in your frigid pool of affection where
lightning’s slow-motion burn can cause
serious marine life arousal, can
make thunder’s bad-ass biblical mouths
into back-up singers for Noah’s last song,
Flooded by Fictions of Rescue.
Daniel Edward Moore lives in Washington on Whidbey Island. His work has appeared in Southern Humanities Review, North American Review and others. His work is forthcoming in The Stillwater Review, Verse-Virtual, and Action Spectacle Magazine. His book, Waxing the Dents, is from Brick Road Poetry Press.
Image: “The Sacrifice of Noah,” Metropolitan Museum of Art, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
