unicorn cure
The cigarettes are gone I wrote with
I speak to a small ghost
I lose three teeth
freeze them
in a mirror
X-ray machines from heaven outnumber drones that move the holy spirit
We leave something on my son’s wheelchair and it messes up his weight for months
For
moths
I don’t do much for my son
I lift my son and an angel matches footprints in hell
I break in a dream my arm for speaking
to a small
ghost
There are jobs you can do
Father jobs and mother
jobs
Your belly
has to be
from here
kingsoftrain 
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