Time gives itself a childhood. Alien, animal, beast, breast. God loves a beginning. Painkilllers don’t age.
We walk to the car. Sometimes the car is different. If I look closely, I can see that I’ve put my son under my shirt. A video of a mother’s finger getting shut in a car door gives me a toothache. Searching lessens the find. There aren’t many pictures of us with our mouths open. There are things we can do to make it look like we don’t go outside. Choice is a medicine. You can eat or you can write, but you can’t do either. Clearly, thunderstorm, jesus had such a short memory that god became necessary. All babies in my dream, dream.
Two birds with one deer. Touch is touch teaching touch the backstroke. The nude think snow can die.
Beth de Araújo's Soft & Quiet is a doomscroll of hidden proximity that will tattoo insomnia on even the most thoughtfully awake. I'm not sure I can recommend it but know damn well it needs to be seen and looked away from in equal measure, and vice versa. Difficult and driven, it deserves all be present. Its one-take illusion puts its menace in so many real places that one feels followed, directly beside, winked at, and eye-level with peepholes marked for repair. As art and as document, it is too true to be based on anything, and is instead ripped into existence by an air breathed by characters who sleep beneath empty symbols and make nothing of vandalism save what's already been carved onto the surfaces of their untouched and wrongly examined lives. It's dark here, in the light, and we know these people. ~ Thomas M. Wright's The Stranger is a bewitchingly downbeat true crime thriller both anchored and spirited away by the eidolic performances of Joel Edgerton and Sean Harris, each of which use a resigned urgency to centralize the haunted hinterland of retroactive pursuit. Edgerton eats worry in his sleep, and Harris sees friendship as starvation. Evil here grows older by being younger than time.
an animal not sold on god angels near its dinner of mock and make and make
Daughters with a couple words unlearned go into the blue to wonder if a father’s mouth pain means he hasn’t been lossing. The arm in my arm needs an arm to miss. There will be no paintings of this dog, she says. I am not always the hole my body needs. Here is one way to get nothing on the newbone baby.
when homesick I seashell my son’s weight in softspots
We were dogless. Animals gave us names but would call us nothing in front of god. A fire started a fire. I said it was me and I was believed. I was given the shyest room by those who wanted me to eat. I ate the room. Sex took it the hardest. A local church displayed the parts of the room it could remember. We heard the sizes were all wrong, and they were. The microscope was close, but was missing the band-aid we’d scarred across the eyepiece. I wanted it to snow but so did the invisible and their sad collection of ghosts. We’re never home when strangers kill the dog.
My good son Noah M Smock does his own thing and did three shirt designs incorporating lines from my poems...gods, brothers, bones, etc... ck out his TEEPUBLIC account if interested. If you send a purchase receipt to me at bartonsmock@yahoo.com, I'll send you a book of mine. Also, I set up a LINKTREE account if interested. Lastly, my most recent book is blood to bathe us in its blue past, May 2022 at 217 pages. Privately self-published and is pay what you want. can be purchased via paypal (bartsmock@gmail.com) or Venmo: @Barton-Smock-2 or CashApp: $BartonSmock
house 9 if I turn my loose tooth toward the cry of a baby baby gets there first. the tv on or off a museum of failure
kingsoftrain 