city 49 I can't sleep any slower but heard you anyway Telling in bear time Nowhere's middle Of our brush with birthmark
city 46 A paper airplane on fire in a helpless mirror * city 47 Skip * city 48 Nothing in a rabbit remembers void's birthday
city 45 If I die at the end of this book, I'm already dead.
city 42 Dogs, I'd say For their panicked longing and cricket faith * city 43 In which my left hand known for my left Hand Cannot kill a spider in a haunted barn that another barn builds * city 44 Keeping the baby despite its perfection
Thimble Lit Mag is a cool place for anyone to be, and you should definitely be present and become a patron of theirs. Also, they are having a drawing this month for my chapbook Skin To Skin In An Unmarked Life. Read about it here
city 39 My copy of god's longing When was it sent * city 40 The dream on its deathbed sees a film on emptiness * city 41 Animals pretend to live here But don't eat much
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 38 On tv a lunchbox designed by my ghost sells so well that a mom
We Don’t Belong Here is anchored by a trenchant performance by Catherine Keener, and is also wonderfully adrift in the presence of its lead, Kaitlyn Dever. Anton Yelchin and Riley Keough are also excellent, both sweet and dark, and Yelchin’s lines about death can’t help but feel far from home, but close to homecoming. It doesn’t quite get where it’s going or know where it’s returning to, but is careful with its oddities of faith. Frank and Lola asks its two leads, Michael Shannon and Imogen Poots, to do too little with too much…but both are intense and Poots actually steals more than Shannon. The whole endeavor is at first sad and a little mean, and then less sad and more mean. There is a scene where the two leads part, and it is a killer. The film has a great look; an emptiness trying to drain itself. The Levelling is all facial tic and repression, and registers wholly. It starts in the middle of things being gutted, gives its hollowness space, and lets its finale fill with the missing. Ellie Kendrick is the real thing, is oracle, and David Troughton tricks silence into doing the work of response. It’s a great film.
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 32 sleep cries itself to death I wrote a poem similar to the poem below You love another
kingsoftrain 