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April 20, 2014 / barton smock

boys from a previous marriage

any word is the memory I have of it.

April 19, 2014 / barton smock


the nothing that’s out there I keep to myself. garbage bag for a coat and in it I act the duck. kids laugh. can’t be alone not with sweet tooth and funny bone. these bottles are trees all in a row. my talk talks me down. I have a bowl for the parts of me don’t work. bowl gets full I get a dog for a day. seeing the devil, you’ll stomach, but the next thing is he picks up a hammer and it’ll put your eyes together. it is pretty how one manages to populate a personal hell and it is too pretty to base an image on a diary soaked but drying in a little house with a kicked-in door. some have a story and they think it keeps them from the generalizing others do to clear space for space. I believe in better care for hammers. for a hobby be stunned by any baby inherits separation anxiety. hobby something as it storms out above the ghosts.

April 18, 2014 / barton smock


on a clear day
my father
is the face
of absence.

how what I mean
cuts the finger

my mother

how porch blood
is not the same blood
the body
faints with.

how copperhead, how rattlesnake, how lisp

says I myth
my sister
who is still

to shoplift

from the thunderstorm
we gave her.

April 18, 2014 / barton smock

creative types

a dog is not barking. father, no mystery. mother is telling a woman that what the woman has is a child of god. I’m in my room like the sort of thing exists in certain parts. porn, doghouse catalogues, the animal that saw god finish. my real friend has imaginary muscle control. I want to touch him but am not sure how much my fingertips have. my brother’s sanity is how a baseball bat makes it onto a crowded subway. in the dream, my father irons my mother’s back with his palms and his palms are scarred. in my friend there are magnets.

April 17, 2014 / barton smock

(self, reading, poems)

April 17, 2014 / barton smock

the jailed they get ideas

mother of the hour-
I have
no clue


dodgeball, no one sad.


praying mantis
eating blood
from a bowl
of dreams.


toy phone

why, toy phone, has wheels

your father.


here somewhere
my nose.

April 17, 2014 / barton smock

recent events

you were born on the losing side of an argument so great it nearly cut your mother in half. to his knowledge, he shook you once, became your father and a hider of the rattled hand. when I wanted to drink, I watched you not sleep, and carried you to sounds I could not make. we each had one eye that believed in god. what eye you had made artifact of light itself. light’s longing.


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