kingsoftrain

designed lightning designed a pair of scissors from something sleeping in the thigh sobbing on the right side of god

designed sound designed a voice for god as a way for animals to tell jokes

unburn
the angels

it’s my year to add a brother

designed these fuckers designed

designed a machine designed a map to cover with cornfields the umbilical cord koans of data abandonment

designed sleep designed restraint blue

designed blue

designed my brothers designed they are white

designed skin designed pressing on prayer with the oyster bruise of a fingernail starved in a mirror by the invisible disciples of nakedness

designed death death I did this for

designed a seasick photo designed a darkroom to keep the empty trap from dreaming of god’s unsurprised stomach

designed we designed a terrified mirror to sleep with the angel who imagined our seeing

designed your mother’s mouth designed a grape all could eat from memory

You died and ever
thing
was left

designed I designed a thumb and with it started the scarecrow’s collapsed church of celibacy

designed my doglike creature designed for a deer a memory using only those sounds taught to god by cars driven at night by blow-up dolls mourning the pink life of mimes 

designed we designed a drunkenness that could breathe for a hole and the hole filled us with crickets and teeth

designed the cricket designed a classic hummingbird too stunned by the non-miracle of beast to leave the pecked eye of christ for the prayer of stillness darkened by a specifically timeworn crow done with being three times the size of god

designed god designed the same creatures as god

I had my honeyed life

designed my weakest son designed, ah

designed my passing designed passage through tapeworm’s nightmare of permanent stars

designed this poem designed the idea that a cricket could leave something in the future and get it back

tattoo
a wasp
its father

You cannot count people whose fingers are worried. Eternity eats a clock in paradise. Touch can’t write. Bliss is a trap. Imagine having the perfect day. Perfect forgetting. I really wanted to like that book. Some rice, some wristcutting. My son disappears but only when I think about him. I sang in church and spelled words correctly. Jesus got close to passing out but in the end had to fake it. I held small jobs in the basements of movie blood warehouses. When not dying I felt odd setting in a hospital an alarm that would trigger no meaning. Wim Wenders is a no notes name. God isn’t much. Silence in the bomb’s empty stomach.  

God recorded nothing

came first
plastic 
then
immoral
loneliness
then
said a whale
to a whale
scratch
your eye
with mine
we’ve seen
for weeks
god
pass
for silence
in the apple
death
of brief
eels

I scroll
To where my son
Isn’t dead

Or past
Or past

designed our brother designed a bathtub that couldn’t hold itself in any position long enough to keep god’s gaze in the injured overlap of stillness as paroled by a creator stuck in a shape-addicted form

designed our sister designed her sister as a crying joke inside of a third sister whose hearing loss created the moon

designed the moon designed an egg to break the ribs of the moon

ADVICE

Be born.
Forget.

/

TO WAR

I will not watch god watch my sons eat nervousness

/

BESIDE A FIRE I AM DRINKING MYSELF TO DUST

Borders change the silhouette of god