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October 29, 2020 / barton smock

( older desperations from which much has been removed. including titles


the quiet woman mothers a silence gone rogue

and names
her kid
to death


pull from your habit forming past. be the bomb god’s yet to wear. eat from the angel’s dream the only fish that can stop at nothing. open your mouth

then look at your son. call it photography. if spotted, be a monster.


I am not god but I do have insomnia. mother can do in her madness what most can in sleep. father hollers at a soldier suffering from memory gain.


I throw baby brother’s rattle over a moving tank.

count for the dead
their black


the baby was found, after the fire, alive and well in the oven. god showed his face until, again, the world made him hungry. at the time, the painter of babies was a baby herself. her brother had been dropped long ago by a man reaching for a foul ball. the sweet tooth’s bible was putting blood on a napkin.

you want grief that is a seashell of grief.


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