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June 1, 2022 / barton smock

( misplaced edits, retro and void



A drop of blood lands in an eye-sized field. 

waking up
to cry.

Hide the hidden ant of your son’s loneliness.



I give god enough to imagine me naked. Fish and bird are loose in the same mirror. My children, Object and Permanence, examine my spotless body like aliens who cannot hurt their own but want to. Their mother’s decoy has a clock distracted by time and their mother swims to have no ghost. Suicide. All those dates I didn’t.


father paints an abstract jesus.  my sister bites at the shoulder strap of her bra.  my brothers 

to keep from crumbling 
are sharing 

I draw a violinist.  a dog 

at the neck of its owner.


in our imaginings
gutted baseballs


the skulls of small animals
through which 
the wind

called heads.

a refrigerator rocks in a junkyard.

either the door has jammed, or she

is pregnant.


a cement wall
in passing
by one
with a stick
is the love
we have
for father

depression is a dog whistle.  I miss dinner sounding it out.


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