Skip to content
March 24, 2021 / barton smock

curvatures

In my dream jaw my dreamboat’s jawbone

In my flood a sober seesaw
In crows a kind of waiting 
meant to receive the balloons of the strangled

In a film ghosting a film, In the church of rolling our own

In mannequins where small things kneel that are living

In jigsaws of the crucifixion and in the ideas my veins 
give to lightning

In Ohio in my left hand what is elsewhere lost in a broken rabbit 

In the city the building thinks god will jump

In the nothing nothing leaves

 

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: