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May 15, 2019 / barton smock

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ghost wouldn’t dream the angel but to see it naked. wouldn’t dream god but to understand. moth
but to disrobe.


to make is to disappear with something at your side. god is still remembering where places are.


I don’t know how sick
to tell you
he is

it could
well be
that violins

put the humming

in the wrist
of god

sleep is where
one learns
to faint


I know now how one looks after losing a baby

says the maker
of frog. how to get

to an angel


can we imagine
this, can we imagine

for the scarecrow at the chalkboard

(fossils (I ask

because we are naked
not nearly

I ask because so often
it comes
before child

this word
beaten, to put

our shadows
to bed


hunger has no moon

these noises
are made

the children
of chew toys

whole lives

the sound of god

on a dot


I am looking with wolf for the dream that raised it. I mean, not really. but I do miss you.

wolf or no


is there a path
my mouth
didn’t take
does birth
the poolside
of a signature
is god
a swimmer
a talker
are there
hobby coffins
for nesting
can we



on all fours, I am bad with names. a hound

in the path
of god.

I drink from the same bath
to the angel
of my mother’s
(as things

yea high


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