A bowl being taken from the paradise of my left hand. The second meal arriving at god's mouth. Any word learning to shorten the life of the poem. Bending with newborns a spoon.
a crow becomes a star above a swimmer's toyless child & not an eyed thing is looking at the sea
it keeps me up the mirror in bear's dream death and its troubled past there will always be more to forget
I guess I want to say that I see you, friend, struggling. These last few years have changed how I go about in the world. There are people I can't be there for because of what it would mean to those who need me to be a place. Sickness is a brief letter sent to god that describes in black ink what it was like reading disability's invisible script. My older children have their health, are not extras, and didn't get to audition. I hope you are okay. I think it is too late here and there for me to be the father I wasn't. I wrote this line circa 2015 that was almost this: I pretended to sleepwalk around the time I began to sleepwalk. Yesterday, I had to cancel a membership in-person and everything I said was a sentence too early. I've always been like this, but these days even always seems longer. And here I am, with asides that include 'these days'. Anyway, Timmy is up tonight with some respiratory issues and Gen is with him and I can hear him trying to put a body on his sleep. Gen probably won't be able to go to sleep for another few hours, when he'll be in the clear. I fell tonight, hard, on the ice while taking out the trash. I don't know. Don't be alone, even if you're alone. And don't let other people be. It helps.
the prop ear, the slip-on wrists, the hand that moves to kiss a kiss in the eatery of starvation’s now, the gathering done by our ghostless constant
Darkness never gets to every creature. I like that it tries. A cigarette taking sad thoughts from a ghost made of breathing. The ant-same memories of a toddler.
God doesn’t change, and knows it.
Say poor and I'll say my arsonist son didn't sell a single flashlight. Touch is a debt touch owes itself. A warm boat left on the erasable sea.
Hair-dryer A sun of empty pain
My neighbor on one side has a pop-gun and my neighbor on the other a candy cigarette. Both are on me to get a pool as if we've seen the last of any mother's blue-headed angel. Like most houses our houses are made of a god listening for the toothpick that sings to a crack from inside a doll. Doll I am not surprised to be with you in the same bathtub where sleep stays to remind death of its failed audition. I don't tell you about my kids.
kingsoftrain 