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March 4, 2016 / barton smock

{grounds}

thru March 8th, Lulu is offering 20% off all print books with coupon code of CLEAR20

have books, here:
http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/acolyteroad

~

[taunts]

death is never early. take the first bite of every meal in front of a mirror. chase the kid while pulling a plastic bag over your head. invent a sibling schoolmates blind. know poverty, know moon. shampoo the elderly from a distance. baby no one. they have looked like hell since before you were born.

~

[listener]

illness is
as illness
narrates.

I self-pierce. medicate
like a missing man
at a party
for baby.

take this balloon
from me.

baby suffers
from heavy
elbow

and wilderness.

~

[pathos]

our fighting
determines
which of us
is more
sonsick.

relic child, town crier.

I take what I’m given, beating.

cerecloth, snow
on snow
before and after

it buries.

me of course
as I position
myself
to hum

above
a basket.

me as I marry homeward
and kick

ball, stone, stiff
bird

stiff bird in death
doubling as
the rat
of an angel

yes
kick
for reasons known
to another’s

pet cobra

skin to skin
in an unmarked
life.

~

[future stabbings]

you take photos of men and women who aren’t all there. you post the photos while your dog barks. you doze on a hot day. your mom calls to tell you about the spider in her eye and while she talks you look for your dog. your mom thinks you sound desperate though you’ve said nothing. you go outside and see your dog in the backseat of a parked car. the car is not yours. your mom has the hiccups and says the first part of goodbye.

~

[serum psalm]

I wake my children until there are three of them.

I see god so I can say I’ve seen god
without
his gas mask.

on leave from pregnancy,
my wife
admires
how well
I project
concealment.

our baby
slept
coiled
in the bucket
we saved
from the well.

my knowledge of dolphins
includes
how long
their offspring
can survive
in a tank
of my father’s
blood.

I once thought
my cock
was sobbing.

so did you.

~

[themes for transition]

I used my nearest
sister
to strike
my brother
who’d wasted
the last tooth
of his horse
meant
for a slingshot
on a meal

for a scarecrow

the power
to mother
went out

father
compared
puppets

our heaven of socks and string

~

[the father]

I am walking up a hill the dark is trying to move. my mother has a way with words. my mother has a baby. reading is a kind of crying. the baby is crying because the baby has lost track of something that possesses nearness. there are two babies. one is always blind and one is blind when it eats. never lose a tooth you can swallow.

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