{dulled}

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my latest self-published:
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all:
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~

some recent poems:

[musics]

a tongueless form eats from the psalm of your shape. I say birth

you say
assault. we are code

maybe
for embed. our mother pawns

the paw
in her stomach

hoping to afford an impression
of the hand
that created
hands.

I have prayed to a cautious god.

~

[safe musics]

the amnesia
of my jack-in-the-box
gave way
to boomerangs

and motion
was the capital
of grief

~

[ain’t musics]

this story again
my flat
brother
on his bike
with baby possums
eight of them
under his ballcap-

the mothered vehicle
of home, the doubled
kindness
of road
and kill-

how taken
from heaven
we lived

~

[body musics]

for fear I will want to be the son of every man I meet

I give god
enough
to imagine
me naked

* and failed / comes field / out a mother’s / mouth

~

[father musics]

she says / drunkenly / birth / as bait

and insects / cigarettes

flicked
from eden /

she mourns / god / the empirical / mourner

and mourns yes / the cold

knees of water

~

[ideal musics]

crow / the sworn / off

microphone
of my maker / a suicide

inspired / by a findable / stone

exodus / of the left

handed / boats

with animal
names

~

[sibling musics]

a found grief in these eggs that scar the pan

–

moon
gives mom
a toothache

–

if you can, bed hunger.

that sleepy
mirror…

–

not news
to your double
my death

~

[milk musics]

newborn
with back pain.

(the cigarette that takes the pulse of our ghost)

it is raining

on the feet of god

~

[blood musics]

so famously
daughter
she is too young
to smoke

–

her silence

in the shorthand
of my mouth

remains
born

–

there is no dark doorknob that ain’t the fist of her brother, no

madwoman
boiling
a deaf
snake

–

she takes it outside
her made-up song

~

[mother musics]

does this thing / with her voice / the boys

they all pray
for the knee / of a ghost / an egg

hatched / in the heartbroken

fog

~

[dog musics]

i.

brother
while slicing
an apple
changes
his name
to earshot

ii.

an orange eats everything
but its mask. there was no ocean

iii.

until we hid from the storm. ticks are crickets

iv.

that belong to the poor