some things that don’t work but do (older or remixed or never)

SOMETIMES THERE IS NO CITY BECAUSE EVERYONE IS ALIVE

An Ohio barber spends her whole day looking at icicles. The children bathe together in what they call a thunderstory. I've seen in jigsaws of the crucifixion the ideas our veins give to lightning. Is there a creature too naked to lose track of time? 

We keep the baby despite its perfection.


~

SOME OF THESE CHURCHES AREN’T MINE

I don’t have anything poetic to say about names beyond that we killed the animals in the wrong order. I remember a rabbit disguised as milk as clearly as my dog does a dream of a whale moaning a verse from its lonely size into a bullet hole meant for something smaller. I’m not sure that wordplay tricks trauma out of its inheritance, though suppose it’s possible that incompletely by accident the fleeing angels of our absence return harm over and over without a scratch to a satellite touching itself in a photograph developed by god’s avoidance. In a town for homesick people who use sex as a lamp, there’s a first time for everything except recognition.  

~

ABLEIST JOKES ABOUT THE MOON

Tracing his toes, my son breaks a bone in his finger.

It’s scary because things mean more in a simulation.

Somewhere in his body his body wonders
if it’s unguessed by god or by ghost.

Bath. Both.

Sabotage time not yet