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November 22, 2017 / barton smock

soft facts

a year older than his violence

the over-feeder
of goldfish, the quietest lover
of his voice

would bruise
when his ghost
would blush

November 22, 2017 / barton smock

{isacoustic*} etc



please check out the work of Jon Cone, first contributor to {isacoustic*}:

{isacoustic*} is a small place of mine and of some others, and is also somewhat yours. poems and poetry reviews and other misc.


submit no less than [3] and no more than [7] poems to: / /poems can be in the body of the email or attached as PDF, doc, docx / include a brief and non-clever bio

in order to be published, [3] of the poems in the submission must be selected by the editors / /all three poems will be published in one post / postings will occur weekly or bi-weekly

payment for a selected submission is 15.00 (5.00 per poem) / payment will be made within one month of the posting / previously published and simultaneous submissions are okay

every three months, the editors will self-publish a journal of…

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November 22, 2017 / barton smock

first day

I pine more for the being god was thinking about when he made you. visually, the moons of pain. where circled by what. the one-eyed lambs.

November 21, 2017 / barton smock

modeling for poem

I don’t think I was born to see my face. my father looks like he’s about to say nothing. her vocabulary comes and goes.

November 21, 2017 / barton smock

from {L A I T Y}

poems from collection {L A I T Y}:

[having a disabled child]


there is a tent
being studied
by dream.

more than snow
the ashes
of snow.

footwear. and checking
our food
for holes.

means keeping
a diver’s
eyelash. and leaving

to finish



it is there
in the way
my father
a single
grocery bag
for a cyclops
that never


{we brought home the wrong dying baby} *partial

onstage a dog barks at an empty stroller. the mosh pit is weak. last count had three pregnant, three resembling the man who unplugged my father, and two praying for the inner life of a hole. onstage a boy is holding up a kite for another boy to punch. dog’s been tased.

sickness in the young is god’s way of preventing nostalgia from becoming the god I remember

I was beautiful but now I’m ugly. (now) being the most recognizable symbol of the present. this is the silence I speak of. my son says (more ball) and you hear (moon bone). he is very sick. his moon has bones.


November 21, 2017 / barton smock

before touch has a body, we can see only

before touch has a body, we can see only

the hands of god
how they fumble

and imagine

for a family

of small

November 21, 2017 / barton smock

deconstructions for son

the day you were born
you were killed
in a dream
where some
were wounded.

I was there / to look / at the sky