Knowing one will have a seizure that the others can watch, ache invents three empty-handed people who are closely based on the two still dying on the roof of a strip club. My first thought upon seeing any horse is that each horse is all the time thinking of its mother. I wait not to be taken but to be taken by the alien attracted to god. The family we don’t talk about burns trash in a silent film. No woman loves grief, but will check its facts.
I want to write about grief in the way another writes about grief. For example, your mother avoids god by telling god what the dead do when they miss their dead and my son has an idea that is also a scar that was once a ghost too gentle to land a kite. Something simple. A dog three times around a pool. Four, if no one has baby news. You cry like a star.
it begins
our emptiness
to share
a dream
the one
where ghost
pretends
to lose
a toothbrush
no
but wow
how quickly
we believe
in being
together
in being
there
when god
by wish
number three
has a kid
who won’t
die
but can
it had to happen
your birth
for us to know
how much
of our breathing
was changed
by a mask
stay small, leaf
dying is death’s way
of asking
to be buried
does it hurt
that we visit
your dog
Worm got itself worm hearing sound beg god for a shadow. Hold tight I guess what glows with desertion. They never ran did they
them trains
I was pretty on?
(I miss you telling me who to miss)
Check this review of Heather Minette’s Half Light (isacoustic*, 2018) by James H. Duncan in Hobo Camp Review:
https://hobocampreview.blogspot.com/2020/03/a-review-of-half-light-by-heather.html
Be eye:
be eye
the nest
of an unmade
god
wrestling
the wrong
shape
The weight I put on in your absence. Who I mean in writing ‘your’. It felt good today to be sad about something more normal. Soap carvings in the window of a neighbor of some future fruit they’ll know, I won’t, to miss.
We had over two hundred children and gave the same name to each. We were both impossible and lazy. Bedtimes, fuck me, were harder than funerals. Sometimes a story would go around nearby about Jesus pretending to put his dad in his phone and we could almost see it. No one died waiting to be the first.
About two weeks now working from home. This feels the calm before the storm, or the storm before the black hole. I don’t want my kids to get sick. I am worried about supplies, not the actual reserve, but the perception that there is no supply which will turn some into ghosts haunted by desperation. I so hope that most are too weak to hold steady their guns. People will steal absence before conceding that what is there is for everyone. If we were vacant, previously, what does that hold for the future of nothing left?
