<mcdaniel's "the offer"> 2006-08-23.6:30 p.m. The Offer Jeffrey McDaniel I want to locate a bit of you, cradle it, say: this, there is no word for this. But they will. They who name everything will define our actions as we auction our bodies off to sleep. In our single dram we'd compose a manifesto on the irregularity of scars. The very idea demands preparation, as if choosing a school for an angel. There are no angles. Just those things Blinking like the teeth of jackals Around the moon's significant tremble. Isolate the idea of shaking our boides under the blank confort of down ant tell me which way will our knuckles face? Now shake the idea of our isolated bodies As the sheets become our Miro. If you stay, the walls will admit their cracks, See it forming, already on their lips. back /& forth /& frosting names are often sad