Memory only eats in front of god. Mothers and daughters smoke together from tornado watch to warning trying to pick up on voice changes in a neighbor's fish and in doing so make of each cigarette a ghost kite that leaves me longing to miss a more specific balloon. There aren't enough of us. Every suicide surprises loss.
By the time darkness touches every map, the baby is useless. God a mistake mistaken for a childhood's double life. If there is a horse, there is a horse thinking only of itself yet also on the kindness of a past horse. Sight cooks my eye in a voided spoon.
Every third angel in the shared dream of swimming with a nosebleed emerges with a temporary fact about god. To hear anything, one must first pack snow near a dying bear.
what would keep angels from comparing papercuts god and sleep are actions I take
After watching Igor Legarreta's All The Moons, a film that lands a star somewhere near Let The Right One In and You Won't Be Alone, where those of a forced immortality are made to ask for permission to be eternal, I wrote a few lines in a notebook: I healed myself with the knowledge that there was no cure for my ghost. Before I knew it, my childhood was older than me. I am the only one who feels that you've been here before. You sound invisible. I don't know, brother, sister, you. Death is the longest read, and war a cheap bookend. See the film. Love the sick. I'll lose the notebook.
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
kingsoftrain 