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June 3, 2019 / barton smock

{ spiritual correctives etc }

SPIRITUAL

CORRECTIVES

~~~~~

you think
you might
be art. her mastering

of his blindspot
for imagery…

(every rock you throw is a bird that can’t breathe

~~~~~

sons says he falls asleep reading to his teeth. son whose size has gone to confess.

put

oh son

god’s hand
through a wall. a fingernail

on my tongue (rib

in luck’s
grave

~~~~~

I don’t have time
to be smart
but everyone
in this movie
thinks a snowglobe
is a moth
on fire

for years I thought the pain I was eating came to my mouth in a dream

argument for there is: were it otherwise,
we’d both be the child of two rotting forms

argument for there is no: a country dog
nodding headcounts
to a family
of sticks

~~~~~

about the birdhouse
dad found
in a church-

I ask
the wrong
storm

is your son a mouse

chewing
on a star?

our blood
wants to pray
outside

~~~~~

the worst advice that hunger gives is to dream of eating.

let your mail tell you where to live.

let there be
in god’s mouth

a bread crumb dressed as a fingerprint.

the shape of this stone makes me worried for symbols.

~~~~~

sobbing

(a form
of abuse

sleep

(god
mid-miracle
dies

saltshaker

(the cowbell of grief

sobbing

(there is a boy
for every
boy

born

(outnumbered

window

(they caught the person who was painting our baby blue

~~~~~

smoking over the empty crib, he calls anything that’s crawled on me the lost hand of god. I don’t care if you’re alone. for the skydiver (whose thoughts on crucifixion

~~~~~

if presence

be a nakedness
survived
by nostalgia
and by
homage, then presence

a milk
in memory
of shape

or shape
oh shape

would-be astronaut

your head
is too small
(but oh how light

the gun you make
of your hand

I am not as alone as I remember

or only
our only

possession

(the belly-dancer’s
muted
radar

~~~~~

I know it happened slowly-

his private
recognition
of every
face.

a leaf in the mouth
of his jesus-on-the-cross.

that aggressive dove.

~~~~~

what is hunger but looking at the shape your mouth didn’t bring? what is the past, the present, the future

but glue stick, puberty, grief

god but the nothing

my hair
does at night

~~~~~

rabbit’s wheelchair

to re
trace

the half
circle
of loss, god

checking
on the length

of her flight

~~~~~

can you tell whose handwriting I use

for fiction
and for non, whose scar

was rubbed
the wrong way

by doll, whose mother

keyed cars
while pregnant

~~~~~

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