kingsoftrain

I’ve put my hands on my brothers hoping they will want to equally die. In the dream it was me checking on me to see if I was faking sleep. You can change the mirror’s past with the face of god. In the dream they find ice in my stomach and shatter notions of conception concerning dying glass angels. Kill my aunt again I dare you. Eden had to be super small.

gesture 7

Loneliness spreads into regions of sleep never before undiscovered

When I say my son is dead you can't say if he is or isn't

In a field of handpicked sex follow not the glow of the sobbing fingernail

Recognize time when I see it

In the movie hidden by me watching god

In the movie hidden by me watching, god gets in the ambulance ever time

In the movie hidden by my watching

Their poor happiness

The child running after a wild tire they’re poor

Poor acne the handwriting it becomes

Angel acne a bone popping out of an echo in the ghost of my soul

The handwriting it becomes when put by the handless

On that tire gone

God of hands

gesture 6

enough
about me
these gaps
in your grief

gesture 5, in three failures

I let a kid punch me in the stomach might my brothers ride their bikes down a hill and later I let two kids pull me out of a bathroom stall might a bike upside down in my dead sister’s room stay upside down in the photo of that room held up by my living sister who claims it can doctor god

~

Death keeps time by the far amen of the face. You have to be very still in your clothes or they won’t last. God is two dead creatures looking at each other.

~

What doesn’t happen in the current dream 

stays 
in the next. 

I roll my own wasps. 

Curled in a junkyard tire, the sibling christ blesses oil spots real or no

Before you were born you listened to your own unrecorded grief

Diagnosed gods
test weapons

Today a tenderness and so on

Are you willing to leave them alone on the earth for their last twenty years?

I doubt with presence my absolute hereness.

Amensia.

I believed inquiry would mean I had a
Question.

No one likes your gesture sequence of
Poems.

We left the water 
To leave the water
Guessing.

Don’t get mad at babies.
Be nice to god.
Tender soldier, there are birds

That bury teethmarks.

The ground is too soft.
Your hand will die.

In this church there is a toy phone on top of a toilet seat. I miss trapping god with nostalgia. I miss amnesia. A boy is a bell is punching into that fatherless space created by any shape born into a world of swimsuits. Oh fury, moon of hopelessness, the astronauts need nudes.

gesture 4

Lakes laze through the last showing of the angel’s invisible shadow. Fire thinks itself unburned. Thunder hears a slow thing. I don’t want this to start. Lure the image out of god. A ripped-up squirrel at the end of the world.

gesture 3

Old poems, I’ve made my cry to the world. Puberty’s pop-gun. Gender’s low star. The short dream of touch meant to abridge the skin’s ceaseless letter to any angel that remembers blood. I’m not home. God’s teeth are very small.