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some earlier 2015:

~

[input]

I am the photo my visions take.

high
on memorization
the mother
has to believe
in god
for god
to have
a safe
word.

the boy is dirt and noise. is hindsight’s
gospel.

loneliness, meet maker.

~

[island]

my son
has enough
light
for god’s
cheek. in pain

I am over
the moon.

~

[bliss is your mother’s terrain]

I don’t have the temper my memory has.

skin cell, star.

a mouthful of the flood’s
haunted
soil. an entry
made by a god
at seven
days
sober.

overseas, another ant
in the darkness…

~

[themes for exile]

its father tells god how it was briefly haunted by two ghosts that began to see each other. it doesn’t mention by name the who’s who of having babies. by the scar of milk in its belly, god accepts on cruelty the continued presence of the left handed coalition of something in the water. a good mother burns what’s been devoured.

~

[fieldwork]

the evacuated court of my son’s illness.

the blind man’s
missing
eyelid.

the grief, the broth, the reacquired thrift.

the dispersed body. the hotbeds

of skeletal
trauma.

the dance music as mother’s
chthonian
darling.

the sorrow method. the rhythm.

~

[divide]

tired of mom touching its food, the baby comes early. we call this moment the buzzard’s injured adoration of a surplus crow.

–

last supper, I see only men.

~

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