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July 20, 2018 / barton smock


SOME previous:

{from infant*cinema}

my child. my diver who wets the bed. my worrier who rescues domestic scenes for animals accused of gaslighting. my swimmer. bather of grasshoppers. my lovely bird alone in an airplane.

two things to do on an empty stomach are:

hold a séance.

follow the spider’s trail of abandoned birthmarks.

in the video, the young woman is being force-fed cake by a man with a ruined tongue. my mother can’t eat and watch at the same time. your mother is holding me and wondering what happened to this thing. our fathers are veering into the realm of film criticism. where you are depends wholly on my sister’s makeup. god’s parents have no concept of time.


[the small]

I acquired you as an infant from a gentleman who needed parts for a radio he planned to invent. listening to his radio was a long way off. you sat early. you called me mother before I was ready. if I was good, you’d play a videocassette to watch it dream. I looked at stars and you were a toddler. our life was life on other planets until the gentleman returned. he said he’d seen satan in a space suit and that satan had given him signs of sexual abuse. you were not unrecognizably depressed but did start a fire in a photograph.


[deceptively simple abominations]

the twinkle in your mother’s eyes alerts god. my thoughts are abused. our fathers live separately. will we live, also, alone? surely. to any inquiry, I am checking for survivors. it’s a premature periphery, but a baby just floated by in an incubator. the townspeople look like candles on the water. chase is a kind of following. the upper body of the minotaur lost everything.



we’re here to bloody the head of the boy who put a clown’s red nose on the girl playing jesus for stopped traffic. if I spoke your language, I would tell you.



you strike me as an invasive listener. I love your body. loving mine doesn’t mean I’m not okay wearing too many clothes. does this make me look alone? like, crucifix-on-the-dashboard alone? my mother fell for my father because he couldn’t find a finger to write with. horror movies lift me from poverty into a long period of healing followed by a jump scare. earlier, before you bled into a corncob, my brain had you as a spider spinning an infant. if it pleases god, I’d like to go somewhere time hasn’t been.


[extramural (iii)]

the fireplace is on drugs. get the good rope and tie it around the wrist of the hand I want dead.

on a drive I’ve undertaken to see my brother, it comes to me that odd things were being sold. jesus-on-a-stick. the crown of thorns, extra. I close my eyes. I dare the brain. the brain says it’s off to be forgiven.

brother has one ugly foot and one beautiful. I have this disorder causes me to fully remember dreams*

*dreams only

everything happened in 1985. words don’t mean. numbers mean. tell your gay father he has nothing to do with himself.

the wind is asleep. it sleeps outside.



thru July 23rd, Lulu is offering 10% off all print books AND free mail shipping (or 50% off ground) with coupon code of BOOKSHIP18
poetry collections, mine, self-published, are here:

*book previews on site are books entire. free hard copy to any interested in writing a review.

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