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May 19, 2016 / barton smock

{prev}

previously:

~

[deme]

i.

king of my mouth. king of my open. my legs

my cigarette
legs.

the end of my arms in baby country.

ii.

the start of my hands

their coat-hook
anxiety.

iii.

here is where the child was killed for being here.

why is a spider
not
a place?

iv.

the future, the uphill
the biked
body

most boats
dream of.

v.

the future
an evoked
salvaging.

~

[toying]

boy spotless, wrecker of the invisible home. oh mother, scrubber of the radar’s blip.

~

[omissive]

the child, the loneliest

reconciliation…

it is not quite suicide, not quite

career

sorrow’s racket,

as in

a deer
in the path
of an oncoming
deer

son I carry

no one’s
blood

~

[entries for giants]

not a thing born
nor a thing
howled at
no
you are not
again
these things

the baby
it continues
to purple itself
where it can

it crawls, but is mostly stunned
by its own
vocabulary

the dog has the tongue of a cat

this is new

~

[go last]

naked, I photograph your bed.

it takes me where I stand
the low joy
of jumping
rope.

birth has become a boys club.

I can weigh two things
with what
you broke.

~

[omphali]

sometimes
you’re awake
and your son
is awake
and neither
of you
believe
in sickness
the raccoon
mask
of sickness…

no god unkissed, no dirt…

and sleep, sleep
is a priest
whose hilljack
blood
favors
the cult
of the noiseless
ant

~

[vessels]

brother peace and brother quiet
dot
the same
neck.

so far, my hands have remembered being hands.

if on a balloon
a face
is drawn
you too
can call
it sister

whose dolls
have biblical
names.

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