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August 29, 2019 / barton smock

{ life.shelf }


on not human enough for the census by Erik Fuhrer:
{ not human enough for the census – poems – Erik Fuhrer }

on Something Akin To by Kaleigh Maeby:
{ Something Akin To – poems – Kaleigh Maeby }

on Hijito by Carlos Andrés Gómez:
{ Hijito – poems – Carlos Andrés Gómez }

on : boys by Luke Johnson:
{ :boys – poems – Luke Johnson }



poems at Underfoot Poetry:

three poems at The Collidescope, here:

interview at The Collidescope, here:

interview at Flyway Journal, here:

Interview with Barton Smock, Author of “Ghost Arson”



MOTHERLINGS, 52 pages, 4.00
poems, June 2019
can be purchased via paypal (
or Venmo @Barton-Smock-1
*be sure to include your mailing address in the comments of the order. any questions can be directed to

Animal Masks On the Floor of the Ocean, 114 pages, 10.00
poems, June 2019
can be purchased via paypal (
or Venmo @Barton-Smock-1



[years ache]

my children haven’t gone a day without their stomachs. sometimes I lift my shirt and I think they mind. I want to tell them but won’t about the party we can’t throw for a dog whistle. fish are still building the sea.


[signal ache]

the only things that grow here are creatures that don’t mind being eaten. my mother has given me two hands with the same name. if the second eye we open remembers having nothing, then our sleep has reached god.


[claw ache]

the soft spot
god has
for the nest
of a fasting

the stone my brother
give birth.

that will put

in your stomach. crucifix,

or the kitten
by swan.

a clump of hair in the newborn’s hand.




a mosquito
on the thigh
of god

its mind


an old
one had
of stars


waiting with an uncle
for any

to pass
the salt


child in a hospital asking does time have enough food


is snow
the mother
of distance


[closing ache]

you were born that you could be shown where you were left. wasp didn’t get that way trying to move a scar

but a spider can dream


[stop ache]

patient me above a footprint with my spoon and my fork and then old jawing at nothing us as food misses our mouths in the after of an almost deer and then for a very long time an emptiness a kneeling a here and there balloon and now it’s just this falling asleep on trains that are also asleep that are manned by ghosters of the misgendered who misgender you me what knows what their sleep is sleeping with and I guess it’s possible to be alone if possibility goes years maybe without experimenting on nostalgia and now it comes to you how it didn’t seem to me to be a turtle until we saw it eaten by a shark and then I needed a name to give to its friends its turtle friends all dead in a kind of before

One Comment

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  1. barton smock / Sep 7 2019 11:44 pm

    Reblogged this on kingsoftrain.

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