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June 25, 2025 / barton smock

a mirror hung during a lightning storm

Know, unreachable 
scar,

the dress
rehearsals
for touch
run late
June 25, 2025 / barton smock

creation thing

A crushed moth in my mother's throat is dreaming of a red lightbulb. The silence of our hair is too much. I say to brother break the same finger seven times you'll hear a churchbell. Eyesight changes what seeing owns.
June 24, 2025 / barton smock

angelry

A minotaur, a unicorn, and an angel walk into a bar. Stay terrified. Your feet will bare themselves to abandoned rabbits.
June 20, 2025 / barton smock

because a metaphor is godless and a simile can’t create

a wasp drops into jesus.

Anything you do to my mother
you do
to my mother.

Eclipse, the painter’s toothache.
My uncle

cuts hair wants to go to space and says

Nothing ever became art that had even only
once
ruined
the hand.

Hell had already a garden.

All we see
we’ve watched.
June 20, 2025 / barton smock

from ‘angel tantrum’ / consumptions, dear ethel cain, & a sacrifice

CONSUMPTIONS

The turtle dreams of strangulation in a green emptiness

A star is the graverobber of god

I texted the writers not all of them

Writing is sometimes being drunk while putting a mouse back together in a mountain

We can kiss here
is an eyepatch
for your moon
tattoo

I don’t know why anyone would want to see anything

What if his son
stayed put

~~~

sacrifice 1

Heaven lasts as long as the dreams you show up in on earth. Dying is the insufficient décor of an offscreen world. Mary had a stalker.

~~~

LETTER 16

Dear Ethel Cain

I sleep in the sleep I’ll die in. My heartbeat says too soon, too soon. A hand on god’s eyelid. Nothing.

LETTER 17

Dear Ethel Cain

They are moving the body from star to star when a landmine made in a dot of blood yawns arisen somewhere in the white acre of my poet friend’s eye. Needing a past, my sister lets a snake eat her entire stomach. Father invents in the grey cinema a remote for loneliness. My friend becomes an angel obsessed with redhaired dolls. My father leaves the cinema wearing nothing but a seashell and spends the rest of his life dreaming of a doorbell that tracks decay. Three mothers we can’t place leave together for a nightmare where a fetus bounces into the back of an out of control pick-up truck. I keep changing what my mouth holds, but it all fits.

LETTER 18

Dear Ethel Cain

They pronounced my name correctly then killed my children. A shredded angel brought to god the blue arms of Ohio lightning. For too long, an infant heard itself think. God outlasted imagery. And gender, god.

~~~~~~~

The above are all from my newest self-published collection angel tantrum.

All of my self-published collections are pay-what-you-want. Be sure to include your name/address details in the comment section of payment type. Email bartonsmock@yahoo.com for free PDF if interested in reviewing.

Each can be purchased via:
paypal (bartsmock@gmail.com)
Venmo @Barton-Smock-2
CashApp $BartonSmock
Zelle bartonsmock@yahoo.com

angel tantrum
published April 2025

the crow's book of wrists
published August 2024

57 letters to Ethan Hawke or I wanted to stop saying god
published August 2024

naked in dog years
published April 2024

apartures
published January 2023

deer as permission to die in Ohio
published April 2023

blood to bathe us in its blue past
published May 2022

untouched in the capital of soon
published September 2021

rocks have the softest shadows
published December 2020
June 18, 2025 / barton smock

god

a color
terrified
of waiting
mistaken
for the color
of waiting
June 17, 2025 / barton smock

no shape to cry inside of

The people started naming their bodies
June 16, 2025 / barton smock

loss surgeons

Birth never gets its person. The title of this poem was once Babies no one can lift and the churches that hide them. I keep thinking of that flood, and how it had to have killed children blissed out on breathing and how it had to have betrayed those animals drunk on a quieter water. Ah drink, ah brothers, a toast: To the life I spent on my impossible disappearance. A thought everyone will end up having is god watched me die the longest. They don’t’ have a sister. A comb with her hair. 
June 13, 2025 / barton smock

angelry

Weirdly gentle pictures of my sons

Found by a woman so strange
She strangely

Cannot die
From being

Who is the angel for the angel of death
June 13, 2025 / barton smock

angelry

We are pain's first memory

They were alive
when he left