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July 26, 2021 / barton smock

city,

city 114

A single tail left in an infant's belly

Ohio loses
every job

July 25, 2021 / barton smock

city,

city 113

After the collapse of our competing factories of sleep, we don't, as written, switch bodies. Surprisingly, it doesn't take long to eat a god. I want to tell you I am here

Untouched, in the capital of soon 







July 24, 2021 / barton smock

city,

city 112

Two small boys forget to jump out of a cake. Some stories just say city. Not anymore, but this movie was once very good at being about god's future. 

July 22, 2021 / barton smock

city,

city 108 now and the future of 109

Your form-obsessed form curated by a dieting emptiness and the bloodless image of a stickman using my head as a pillow

*

city 110

Ask any widow 

about the letter
n

*

city 111

In the farness of this room is there a pair of handcuffs hiding from a wheelchair





 
July 19, 2021 / barton smock

/ interview at Fevers of the Mind

Always cool when people ask.

Thanks to David O'Nan at Fevers of the Mind for letting me say some things HERE



July 18, 2021 / barton smock

city,

city 107

I think there's another way into the city. For example, when you lost your broken hand and had to use the movie camera of our fog-eating infant. Parents of the sick get no sleep. I died designing a bathtub for god. It's not true but it keeps people from leaving.

July 16, 2021 / barton smock

city,

city 105

Erased sex tapes
and moon
landings
Is Ohio 
even in 
Ohio

*

city 106

In Ohio I was the only hole my mouth had

July 16, 2021 / barton smock

city,

city 102

Angels buy footsteps with pictures of the poor

*

city 103

Your mother enters god in the ghost you painted for death

*

city 104

The past 
changes only
what was  
July 15, 2021 / barton smock

city,

city 101

Your describable
obsession
with father's
handstand 

The syllable of your lost 
knee, and

The roadkill
your dog
put to sleep

July 15, 2021 / barton smock

some things that don’t work but do (older or remixed or never)

SOMETIMES THERE IS NO CITY BECAUSE EVERYONE IS ALIVE

An Ohio barber spends her whole day looking at icicles. The children bathe together in what they call a thunderstory. I've seen in jigsaws of the crucifixion the ideas our veins give to lightning. Is there a creature too naked to lose track of time? 

We keep the baby despite its perfection.


~

SOME OF THESE CHURCHES AREN’T MINE

I don’t have anything poetic to say about names beyond that we killed the animals in the wrong order. I remember a rabbit disguised as milk as clearly as my dog does a dream of a whale moaning a verse from its lonely size into a bullet hole meant for something smaller. I’m not sure that wordplay tricks trauma out of its inheritance, though suppose it’s possible that incompletely by accident the fleeing angels of our absence return harm over and over without a scratch to a satellite touching itself in a photograph developed by god’s avoidance. In a town for homesick people who use sex as a lamp, there’s a first time for everything except recognition.  

~

ABLEIST JOKES ABOUT THE MOON

Tracing his toes, my son breaks a bone in his finger.

It’s scary because things mean more in a simulation.

Somewhere in his body his body wonders
if it’s unguessed by god or by ghost.

Bath. Both.

Sabotage time not yet