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October 19, 2022 / barton smock

misc 2020, 2019, 2021

2020, from (diets of the resurrected)

Ohio introductions:

A god finds its mother in a joke about the food chain and is no longer sad that human babies don’t walk right away

Hunger remains your painting of the angel’s predicted appetite

The wind gets that way by looking for its twin


Ohio alibis:

Two sisters learn from the same angel how to use an insect bite as a fingerprint


Ohio postscripts:

Shy, I could not collapse in front of mothers who were born on the moon. As for the children, they’ll die for baby. For any last fact that others exist.


Poverty is a town that’s killed everyone it’s named after. Also, it is a very maternal thing to say out loud that being born in Ohio just means that Ohio won’t discover breakfast foods for another eight years. Look, it’s not like the babies died because one or two of them couldn’t cry into a pillow. This is what I mean by plural. Most movies don’t make it to the death of my son.


from 2019


I like to think of my grandmother as always on her way to an obstacle course for invisible children

(as combing her hair in a spiderless wind


younger, I skin my knee in the museum of the dropped jaw. you say blue is a color and I say it’s a clock. god is there and is asking no one we know to leave space for a birthmark. we are somewhere between my grandmother dying and my grandmother dying. a noise outside could have come from this painting of three window-washers kissing the same egg or it could have come from outside


I can’t sit
for very long
without wanting
to smoke.

this is the flower
I pick
for my ghost.


from 2021


The babies came out silent

Our talk 
was over

It might still be
meal two
or three

Meal one: the slow 

of having had

a toothache
on the moon

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