Zachary Daniel

by Zachary Daniel

The man stirring his dreams into a glass of whisky
is also among them, walking out
into the mayapples, shrinking all the while.
And when he’s under their foliage, stops.
Rain pounds right through the metal roof.

Another down a trail scored by tire tracks
is up to his ankles in mud. All he can do
is laugh, lay back, and let the rain
fill his mouth like a heel-print.

A third, dozing in the cabin, wearing only
one wool sock will wake to the moon
dropping behind two cedars. His body
will empty, and some inner creature will take off
through the branches like a moth.

Zachary Daniel works as a gardener in Cave Hill Cemetery. He lives in Louisville, Kentucky. He has poems published or forthcoming at The Pierian, Eunoia Review, Palette Poetry, Verse Daily, and elsewhere on the internet.

by Zachary Daniel

Last night of the fair.
The livestock are packing
their suitcases for a journey
in the back of warm trailers.

The Ferris wheel, groaning,
lurches from its stanchions
and rolls into the darkness,
taking from each of its cabins
one long draught of bourbon.

East Wing of the assembly hall.
Antique toy soldiers
lost in the brightness
of industrial lamps.
One has a blue ribbon.
They all report to him.

Fat pumpkins loaded onto palanquins.
Kohlrabi push. Watermelons roll.
The dark tobacco sheaves bow
so low they fall
and are smoked.

Many hundred tracks of powdered sugar
the ants are mopping away.

The patriotic quilt quietly undoes
the seams on its patches
and drifts into the white mountainous
bed of Argentina.

2AM. The head supervisor arrives.
Her beam finds only the barren walls.
She has a kind of ceremonial key
which jingles as it unlocks nothing.

Zachary Daniel works as a gardener in Cave Hill Cemetery. He lives with his wife and cat in Louisville, Kentucky. He has poems published or forthcoming at The Pierian, Eunoia Review, Palette Poetry, Verse Daily, and elsewhere on the internet.

by Zachary Daniel

I am pulling the sled deeper
into a country I was assured
was wholly free of antecedents.

Across the border the moon has built
its palaces of light and the birds, everywhere,
turn iron and plunge from the sky.

Bees float on in the absence of any nest.
Ants rummage through wallets
fallen open in the grass.

A stream is dragging its trout
backwards through its silvery gears.
Shadows scurry under the objects that cast them.

Every farmhouse is a paper cutout
behind which a single man
can be found sleeping at his post.

Weathervanes waggle in the unknown air.
A banker’s face turns red in the struggle
to pull his vault around in a bindle.

Even the stars in this country
prove unnameable, fastening
“Be Back Soon” signs in the open air.

When the townsfolk go to bed
they unzip a seam behind an ear
and hot air escapes from their flesh.

Rocks materialize into position,
cracking their knuckles.
The soil sits there surreptitiously.

By now I have ditched the sled
to crawl on hand and knee
into the tiny department store labeled “Heaven”.

Zachary Daniel works as a gardener in Cave Hill Cemetery. He lives with his wife and cat in Louisville, Kentucky. He has poems published or forthcoming at The Pierian, Eunoia Review, and elsewhere on the internet.

by Zachary Daniel

Perfect the art
of guerrilla warfare.

Cast off in paper boats
and surf the coast of drapes.

Amass themselves
like self-assembling snowmen.

Crawl into your mouth
while you sleep.

Ply their hooks
in the tentpoles of tomcats.

Live the dream
of the Jeffersonian yeoman.

Play the Greek chorus
to our domestic affairs.

Wish for children
though all their wombs are barren.

Menace the various rodents
that wait on the threshold.

Crowd each other for warmth
when the first frost comes.

Agree that God doesn’t care much for his creation,
but does exist.

Send postcards to old friends
in indecipherable script.

Launch no missiles,
not even bottle rockets.

Lope away on chalk feet
trailing sticks and match-smoke.

Wait for lovers to arrive
on the five o’clock train of your boots.

Are moved to tears when a sunbeam
alights in their dank corner.

On the verge of sleep, see their lives
as one great contradiction.

Zachary Daniel is a librarian and poet based in Louisville, Kentucky. His poetry is inspired by the natural world, literature, and the metaphysics of the commonplace. His poetry is published or forthcoming in The Pierian.