Skip to content
December 13, 2018 / barton smock

form notes

you are poor and have the wrists of a beachcomber. god writes a play about sleep. I rest my eyes and my father’s microphone becomes the nightmare my mother has where she presses the fingernail no ant is under. you think you’re the ghost of your mouth.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: