kingsoftrain

In rabbit astronomy, a hole touches a hole. I want you to imagine the loneliness of being a thing that others its own cure. Death loves the disabled. I am still hurt by the art you don't like. My brothers have started running. Dearest brothers I was hit at a different clip by those who would say a prayer over weapons buried in the garden. I don't think anyone should receive an award for writing prose. School shootings, that's why. Also psalms. Also haiku. Also the age nostalgia reaches in America and the age it doesn't in Israel. Death loves the disabled. Did I say that already? God sure misses being notified of the yearning we've created.  

long
as you can
stay sick
on the earth

stop
the babies
the weapons
are young

Drinking gives me time to drink. 

I miss my son, he's here, I practice.

Not a bigger problem than this trembling god, but snow is the afterlife of color. Is your time gonna be here when you’re gone? I want the whales back but don’t want to include a single whale. Take me to your follower. I pitch sadness to sorrow but never hear. I cut myself in the dark to see if the creation of the weapon I didn’t vote for still makes other children smell like smoke. Don’t love them too much or you’ll pray them to life. Sleep comes to me twice during the same haircut because my barber doesn’t drink but she does say under her sister’s breath the distracted angel of our father’s search history sucks on the rib of a suicidal cartoonist. Here is how I know I cannot write: It’s not me sobbing but it’s also not me playing the piano. I unsee a cricket turn to salt but fail to quiet the echo that eats it. I’ll never forget having a mother.   

If on a tooth
you break
a tooth
god 
will correct
the overbite
your child
died with, Made it

to the moon
my mother's 
silence, Emptiness

longed
long enough
to lure
a caterpillar

into swallowing
its own
exodus, Jesus

smuggled shrapnel
into heaven, I'm ugly

here, too

By the time god dies, she's still alive.

Angels
give their memory
to buzzards. The longing

in my son's head
is all of it

Televised CPR.
Abortion dolls.
Hitting
for Jesus
your head
on a wasp. Angel 
suicides
in alien's 
heaven
or you could

hear nothing.

this
your one
past
life

I'm sorry.
I need something beautiful.
I don't
have any
skills.
Touch
goes twice
to heaven.
Bomb 
threat 
suicide note
it's easer
to kill
the unloved.
My son
dies more
than yours. Hell
thought hell'd
be longer.
am I supposed to hear my brothers crying all at once?
In a poem
called God
all this
for motherless 
women.