Wednesday, March 2, 2016



bite my teeth on famous lines
a hole lot of fragmented shells;
hunger hollows within--
deepening abyss
of lost longing
lone-ranging, reigning the distance
of a round heartless night

of a round heart-last light
lane-ranging, raining the day-stance
of last longing
steepening a-bless
wonder hallows within--
a whole lot of fragranced shalls;
bide my heart on famous lines

--Daniel Wilcox

First pub. in Dead Snakes


The Road to Elsewhere

The highway to ‘hail,
Hail Afghans all here,’

(“Give me your ears…”)

Is paved with good intentions and ‘IUO’s.’
On that yellow ‘book’ road, tell tales-where-banned

Men of lairs acclaim executive offense…
Come out of your pious lores, you liars.
But we’re all so right, we over weird, of the west wind…

Our shocked awe amazes
(“You, too …’brutal’?”)

We’re not in Kansas
Anymore, nor never were. Was?

A last ‘stand’ stammering
In that season--the dogs of Mars and a sheep’s head,

She slumps to the bleeding ground.*
Shot for All...
Can't we get a heart?

*Another woman executed by the Taliban

--Daniel Wilcox

First pub. in Fish Food Magazine, November 2014


The Last Libation

Jim Town, across the county line
Where many a poor Cheyenne
Emptied his dim future
In the short, sotted glass;

Nothing new of this watery fire,
The forked-tongue libation
Passed from the pallid men
Down to generations of the lost,

To those hunched at the rail-
Descendants of red men who
Counted coup with shining valor-
But these instead pour out their soul'd

Lives to Chief Bacchus of the bottle;
Restricted to behind the dark bars,
They shuffle the time worn cards,
Then slump, no longer ruling the plains.

But the Rez’s young girl, his cousin,
Only 12, copper-templed and kind,
With glorious raven hair, now
In the gathering Montana dusk

Tips on the dirt walk, sour breathed,
Staggers on the ‘warn’ path
Through Lame Deer town,
And passes down, then gone.

Says another tribe’s brave,
A leader in translation,
My heart is sick…

I will drink no more forever.

Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce, Native Americans
Hinmatóowyalahtq̓it ("Thunder traveling to higher areas")

--Daniel Wilcox

First pub. in Sentinel Poetry Online, United Kingdom



I’m retreaded but road-tired,
Rolling across cantankerous land
Though, thank heavens—knock around
On pavement
And redwood,
Not yet sent off to a ‘board and card’ mansion,

You know where decks and bingo
"Was a dog..." chips or
Define the tokened measures of your life--

Or where
Reclining and breathing entertain you.

No, I’m bound for that promised land...

--Daniel Wilcox

First pub. in Poetry Pacific, Canada

Brief Bio: Daniel's wandering lines have appeared in many magazines in the United States, Canada, and overseas including Contemporary American Voices, Write Room, Static Movement, Word Riot, Poetry Pacific, Counterexample Poetics, and Unlikely Stories IV.

Before that Daniel hiked through the University of Nebraska, Cal State University, Long Beach (Creative Writing), Montana, Pennsylvania, Europe, Arizona, and Palestine/Israel. He now lives on the central coast of California with his quilting wife.

In the Light,

Daniel Wilcox

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