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January 18, 2018 / barton smock


the father is a shepherd in a hall of mirrors. the son a man on all fours salvaging a puzzle mothers use to predict snowfall. we have goats but they act like goats that deep down know they’ve been imagined. the daughter is a hallucination color prays to.

the goldfish a marble from the psalm of dry lamb.

January 17, 2018 / barton smock


editors: Barton Smock and those he happens to be talking with


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Jon Cone

and the heart-ache
that occupies the land is yours alone in hope. – {from} YOU ARE NOT LATE, IT IS ONLY THE PRELUDE THAT PLAYS


Adam Hughes

Tonight the fugitive gods limp
away, – {from} Kemper Street Hymns


Leanne Drapeau

the body broken,
poured out. – {from} love has all its teeth intact


Agnieszka Mauch

I can’t
move my arms enough to create a
notion of the sea – {from} FURTHER DISRUPTIONS


Amelia Kester

I will…

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January 17, 2018 / barton smock


I go places
in my ghost
that are children
when I arrive. they call me

high grass, lord
of the wind’s
blood. most of them

have lost
with dog
to birth
or touch, our brief

to déjà vu

January 17, 2018 / barton smock


father is sitting in that snowplow like he’s seen every baby and mother is mock burying herself as if daring the holy spirit to make a fist

and sister wants to weep
for an eyelid or hear
a helicopter

and the heart has too many ghosts

January 16, 2018 / barton smock


thru January 18th, 20% off all print books on Lulu with coupon code of LULU20

my most recent collection is here:

and {isacoustic*} volume first is here:


January 15, 2018 / barton smock

the angel

the sea
its oldest
the angel
of a butterfly
from hell’s
first council
of sleep
as we kiss
on the hand
our hunger

January 14, 2018 / barton smock


childish nicknames for the messiah

these desperate meditations
on the ghost
of a sober

I am not death but enter
like it
the church
of so many
spelling bees
to ask
whose punishment

for being born
am I