country 1
Death is the only absence that absence honors.
Not seeing creatures
up close
is home
.
country 2
No one prayed here
nor left
here to pray.
Hurry, math.
The small gods
they lower
the footprint
.
country 3
Blue from making thin air,
we could almost
see
the snowball
in your mother's
stomach
.
country 4
A tooth taken by a tooth.
The night
on one
knee.
A child as friendless as a wrist
.
country 5
A bunch of insomniacs are making short films about nosebleeds. To them I am sometimes a sound effect. Handstand or handsand, I am too young to be watched. I don't have wrists and I can't take the bath your body took. Kiss loss. Kiss loss where
.
country 6
Lightning as it thirsts for a stray glacier's rib.
The unsought
quiet
of a surgeon's
body.
Things
after they happen
in the sun of my disgrief
.
country 7
Two mirrors praying over the glass in our food. Death continuing to believe I know where god is. The pill that remembers your one thought. The choir of alas
.
country 8
I made a list, once, of all the weapons I wanted you to try and then, while barefoot, I was told that god would never walk and that my birthmark was a hole I'd never see.
Here are two poems about nostalgia:
regret regrets not using its alias
this is the wrong
tadpole's
past
.
country 9
Two poems about his gun:
You can like your body but only if we can see it all at once. Sleep
is the new
sleep
.
country 10
100 poems about time travel:
The child young enough to be on my hip is waving to the nobody in the microwave. The dead have a past. But it's empty
.
country 11
We argue agonology in the exploded ghostgrief of god.
Repair is winter's last machine
.
country 12
We throw seashells into a cornfield.
There are children
we want back
.
country 13
A glove passed from baby to baby
or a light switch
left
for nearby
angels.
A hand in the middle
of being a hand
.
country 14
An orange baseball gives up in a white field.
Birth and death
no longer
miss each other.
A broken branch from my dog's sleep
is a big deal
and the saddest thing
.
country 15
We put the baby in the house and went outside. I wish I could be more specific. The baby was alone. It wasn't a house you could see from another baby. From the road
I mean
.
country 16
Again the hands know which is newer. A flame yawns your hairbrush still. The toothache on the top of my head wants its own toothache. For hours the child
Soft, like an exit
.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Leave a Reply