city 114 A single tail left in an infant's belly Ohio loses every job
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
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.
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
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.
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
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
city 101 Your describable obsession with father's handstand The syllable of your lost knee, and The roadkill your dog put to sleep
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
