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more same, more edits:

[strictures]

father arrived
with a convincing
deafness
in one ear
and a broken pair
of handcuffs
he’d named
the left hand
of god-

mother had called him from sleep
with a birthmark
my mouth

~

[steganography]

every day is a scar’s birthday. this is how I am able to start most of your sentences. I praise your god, you worry, and worry keeps him from finding out. on the day you started talking the rooms were horrified. the termites fled your blood. a cold stone appeared outside beside a stick. the home’s most loved dog died without spatial awareness. your mother began to compose a series of poems by Franz Wright. for inspiration she put her hands in the dog and in doing so dropped a sack of black groceries. a thing that changed over time rolled into your father’s mouth.

~

[unlikeness]

not much happened. after I was born, father stood outside of a church and watched mother go in. before I was born, they had eleven cigarettes between them and smoked maybe nine.

not much happened. my brothers joined me on a bike ride. we made visors of our hands and squinted into the sun. we looked for a hill. we stopped to watch a boy being pulled into a house by a spotted arm.

the loneliest thing I’ve done is buy a hammer.

~

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