as proof of shyness. as death
hole / poems, barton smock, October 2016
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***if you tell a friend, the friend you tell can be imaginary
some poems, from:
I was a doorstep baby and brother a treehouse.
moon of the injured. moon of the blind.
[his impressions of the experiment]
my closest frat brother looks at the toad and says frog motherfucker. tackles me. fact: there is a certain kind of toad that by staying still can kill a drug dog. in this country, a man can sell doves from the back of a white van. a man can run out of doves. my ghost is obsessed with caterpillars. it doesn’t matter what you say. they found that woman.
[her impressions of the experiment]
his animals hiccup somewhere within the contagious yawns of god. his tumor is the crow of the ocean. the foot they hope to find me with is not yet purple. I shred a tiny pillow but your baby ain’t blind.
the human dream
god’s attempt at a short story
/ the elephant
in its ruin
yeah, it rains here
/ tell your sister
to the man whose face can do things mine cannot, I give my son.
silence has no creator. pictures
one less person
we wrestle sometimes in the junkyard over who gets to guard the lullaby machine. we share an image of our father making a throwing motion while above a necksick dog. of our mother dropkicking a pumpkin to egg on the nothing y’all can come and get. we aren’t close but chew together loudly and lip-synch the hymns we know. spiders forget the sea.
telescope, craft your grief
god is what
infant, the sooner
I have this baby I’m not afraid to use.
you pretend to shoot
and I’ll pretend
to fall. we’ll make a day
of never talking.
the missing crow of thorns.
[swimmer of the blue snow]
a bowl of soup bleeds to death
in the eatery
of my praying
I am with my wife and son and we are drinking from the shell of a turtle a soup the locals use to dilute a rain’s grief. I kind of know that something bad is going to happen to both twins. my wife is looking for a wheelchair and then for a place to hide it. my son is saying grace in the only spot he’ll ever be. some of his white pills turn blue as a laugh track denies three times the thunder’s loss.
/ barn etiquette. the rabbit
and what would you have me imagine? a change of tense in a tale of abuse. a baby licking the palm of a doll. a spoon. a robot’s broken arm. a chalk outline of a worm. hunger’s tacklebox. our allergic sister’s suicide note. a calf eating its first canary.
the nude’s failure to stay awake in a laundromat. the suicide of the copycat toddler. nine types of catfish. a worm’s tongue. god’s last name. the orphan’s timekiller.
[possum & moth]
dad is trying to load bullets into a flashlight. his tv show is having trouble sleeping. mom wants us to drink the water while it’s hot. myself I’ve heard horror stories about pissing in the baby pool. I tell my brother having a fever is alot like giving god a blowjob. sister opens the oven for a doll she thought would be taller. we like you but not when you’re lonely.
[On my father being gay]
a hearse emerging from the shadow of a school bus
/ a mother
/ that poorly
~hick lore rabbit hole~
~poems, barton smock, 124 pages, 9.00
book preview on site is book entire
free hard copy to those interested in writing a review, make request to email@example.com
*note: currently, all Lulu print books are 20% off with coupon code of SAVVYREADER
of the world ours is based on
my teddy bear
means the baby
on your back