THE BEGINNING
snow
on nothing’s
cricket
THE BEGINNING
unslept
in exhausted
stillness
do we know
god
where stuff
is
THE BEGINNING
a bomb
in time
a hole
in a child
the childhood
of that
hole
THE BEGINNING
the lost
ghost
hidden
by Eve
forever
a sickness
falling
ill
THE BEGINNING
raccoon light
loneliness
your mouth
no mouth
has
autofiction is isolating
or god
doesn’t write
about women
raccoon light
cancer in the skinned person’s empty hospital takes my cock’s confession
the beginning
grief, ashtray, arson
I talk my horror angel into never again using an oven
eggs
in microwaves
miss
my missed
& secretly
ate
teeth
THE BEGINNING
I thought they said call off the dolls. God is the different word for god. I rolled my brother’s eye under a door and into a room the color of his eye. Grief is the last cigarette of kingdom. Are you watched like god or watched like a baby? (how to tell if you’re a baby) How lonely: I dream of doing the job I have. What does a mouth do but reach for a mouth? Fall asleep waiting for an angel to eat your teeth. The child I’m selling comes with a gun.
THE BEGINNING
Dog died of old age in a motel room in Ohio
Idk seems wrong, seems like autofiction
taught time
nakedness
I’m not photogenic
being sad
for mom
I am ugly in a mirror that cares for my teeth
I washed another’s body
longer
than you
At least in hell you can think about hell
hunger
in Ohio
is quiet
for two
Each beast tires differently of god
suicide, or clothes
THE BEGINNING
Reading in code about disease-erased sadness, I left in a cornfield an epileptic no one liked. Deer and dog forgave Ohio its obsession with god’s manufactured patience. The horse that screamed scrame and my math teacher heard a glass of milk praying for my sister’s rib to break. We loved little. Doubled over orphans and weapons weapons made.
THE BEGINNING
I hold myself in the dark
That’s
the whole
poem
You want a mirror, a god
of the anti
rare
Father, mother, a cry
( baby
shaped
things
THE BEGINNING
I don’t know how to be here. On the moon I was with my nephew and I taught him the best form to use when running away from snow. My knees gave out and not all of my brothers stopped breathing. I searched my father online. Mom sent me pics I needed to be there to see. My sons died in this order: daughter, deer ghost, ex-angel. My stomach took suicide as a noise stuck in a falling rabbit. It’s not hard being sad. Take steps. If your son is sick, say a prayer that he is sick long enough to sleep through AI songs about Charlie Kirk. Call your dreams deer dreams then don’t. Fuck them deer. Ohio is a hole in Bethlehem.
THE BEGINNING
Frog of my stomach, mouse of her brain. Aw, sis, we could never let the same animals go. The creatures good at hiding were god’s. A tooth tells a bitemark about the quiet inside of your mouth. I become in dreams food that my children can eat.
THE BEGINNING
Shape has come to mean my body turns out the lights. There are no angels in the ocean. You can’t pay for my most medically alive son. Also I’ve never seen blood but bro I think there’s alot of it. I scream inside of my mother at a stone. Inside of my father’s ankle at my father. For a second I come to in the sexless bodies of my motherfull cousins and the doubled orphan christ writes to me in prose some advice on how to ruin a psalm. Oh long song of wrongdoing. Tattoo shop in a raindrop machine. Eat after me. The heart saves nothing. God even less.
THE BEGINNING
A rabbit with a bloody nose nudges in a weak world a cross to surrender its math to the slack call of collapse. My brothers paint my body in a dream where a coat’s amnesia is a crime that snow blames on an Ohio addict whose mirrors belong, belong, belong. Oh golden fetus your undug eye. Your sightseeing as surgery on the predictably sick. What would you become if it were the last creature running that your parents would see in a field at the same time? Existence reached us. Then stopped.
THE BEGINNING
I tried to write this yesterday.
My son’s hands
were almost
asleep.
A noiseless
dog
had fainted.
A pencil went dark
and I drank
to that.
kingsoftrain 
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