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Daniel Chamberlin

In silence the owl

Regards the mouse

Affectionately musing

How fine the little diner is

That dances for me

Before the feast

It’s the moon, you fool

It’s fat and rotting

Hanging in the sky

Full of bloat

It’s the moon, I tell you

Stalking you softly

Leering and hungry

​The eye of the goat!

Sometimes people talk about the darkness between stars. Foolishness. There is no darkness between stars, there’s nothing there to make shadows. Only endless and eternal blinding freezing illumination, as stars throw light at other stars across a fathomless void. Space is Hell,

as described by Dante: eternal, freezing and the prison of light.

He left his heart

Strewn across their conversations

A storm of leaves

Across a babbling brook

What if your skin was made of autumn leaves

Your hair made up of Japanese maple and sycamore

And you danced and swirled on the chill cold wind


And smiled splinters of icy rime


Across the drifting pond


Hush you whisper

And I am quiet

Hush you whisper

Nipping at my ear

Hush you whisper

And I shiver as you drawn near.

Sea Shore

Daniel lives in the mountains, hopes to die near the sea and can’t walk a mile without seeing something worth writing about. He is fat and jolly and full of mirth, he is hungry and savage and full of rage, yet let no one fear, he is full of good humor and hope for the future. 

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