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Daniel Thomas Moran


in this forest must


Leaf begets earth.

Fruit begets spawn.

Branches splinter.

The rot of trunks

becomes peat.

The thing, its parts.

Stumps become nurse

to saplings and moss.

Stones are concealed

until roots and rain

unveil them again.

The forest falls

and falls in on

itself, nourished by

the long memories

of what’s dead.

Deeds done by dew

and the invisible.

And then there is

this poem which

unearthed me on the

road to the landfill,

Written with a pen

fished from the muddle

beneath the car’s seat,

It lives upon an envelope,

redeemed from the

recycling bin, that

I hope

will survive to tell.

Quiz question:

What is Salvation?

Going to the landfill

Going to the landfill

A fantasy believed by six billion people.

A fantasy believed by six billion people.

When your mouth fills with spit.

When your mouth fills with spit.

The name of my bookmaker.

The name of my bookmaker.

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Issue 21


September 22, 2017

Daniel Thomas Moran is the author of ten collections of poetry, the most recent of which, “A Shed for Wood” was published by Salmon Poetry in Ireland in 2014. He is the former poet laureate of Suffolk County, New York, the birthplace of Walt Whitman. He has had more than three hundred poems published in some fifteen different countries. He retired as Clinical Assistant Professor from Boston University’s School of Dental Medicine in 2013 where, in 2011, he delivered the Commencement Address. He lives in Webster, New Hampshire with his wife Karen.

i dont feel like fininishing this website right now and i am sorry

In your defense, you

had legitimate belief

to think she was drunk.

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Issue 21

This writing was originally published in Opium Magazine, and is not listed in the archives.
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