I've never been in a dream like this where I can see all my kids at once. It could mean nothing. A thumbtack I've had longer than a paperclip. The sleep-getting guard of god's two amnesias. Dying. I'm not sure what you want. The animals I name in no time.
I will miss your hair with mine. We don't need to talk. Someone remind longing to mourn.
country 14 An orange baseball gives up in a white field. Birth and death no longer miss each other. A broken branch from my dog's sleep is a big deal and the saddest thing
anyway I really miss my grandmothers, my grandfathers, my father-in-law, and oh how I miss my aunt and lately the writing idk it's just not all there but I think that is part of it you know the distance the lack of wording the void that not even absence will throw itself into but I just want to say that while all this loss to me is like losing a place or an eyepatch or the x on some root, these losses mean to others whole fucking mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and limbs without phantom and I just don't know what to say except that I am speechless at the tip of so many tongues and that I hope you are all able to language your way backward and through
city 33 Bagging the bright mouse in the deer faith of my youth - city 34 Tooth decay carried by god over the capital of After - city 35 All secrecy genetic Proof is our last ghost - city 36 A running shower that prays impossibly on the body of our lowest sibling for the return of a bomb-maker's homesick drone - city 37 An angel burned for soundproofing crows - city 61 One dollhouse for another The noises leave I keep the same double life Dog's paw, child's knee The rifle's Tilted field - city 67 Dying, touch will ask to attend the hand's silent film debut - city 69 Crow, with seashell - city 70 or 71 The short past of my body in the small of yours A baby chewing on its hand in pile of leaves - city 72 and 73 The boy has one mouse…
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country 13 A glove passed from baby to baby or a light switch left for nearby angels. A hand in the middle of being a hand
country 12 We throw seashells into a cornfield. There are children we want back
country 11 We argue agonology in the exploded ghostgrief of god. Repair is winter's last machine
kingsoftrain 