self-published, private, June 2019:
Animal Masks On the Floor of the Ocean, 114 pages, 10.00
poems, June 2019
can be purchased via paypal (bartsmock@gmail.com)
or Venmo @Barton-Smock-1
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
MOTHERLINGS, 52 pages, 4.00
poems, June 2019
can be purchased via paypal (bartsmock@gmail.com)
or Venmo @Barton-Smock-1
*be sure to include your mailing address in the comments of the order. any questions can be directed to bartsmock@gmail.com
George Salis: What has influenced you then and what influences you now?
View original post 726 more words
patient me above a footprint with my spoon and my fork and then old jawing at nothing us as food misses our mouths in the after of an almost deer and then for a very long time an emptiness a kneeling a here and there balloon and now it’s just this falling asleep on trains that are also asleep that are manned by ghosters of the misgendered who misgender you me what knows what their sleep is sleeping with and I guess it’s possible to be alone if possibility goes years maybe without experimenting on nostalgia and now it comes to you how it didn’t seem to me to be a turtle until we saw it eaten by a shark and then I needed a name to give to its friends its turtle friends all dead in a kind of before
what we’re seeing hasn’t reached us yet. what is it a sister says? a god dies when its coffin is empty?
Yesterday morning I was writing the following notes for an essay:
“Hope is frequently misplaced in the face of white supremacy, by which I mean the wrong people are often asked to have and confer hope, by which I mean black people.
Possessing hope is a personal decision. No one can demand of you to hope for a thing. Hope takes energy, consumes bandwidth, tasks the world around you to rise to an expectation. But white people and black people aren’t talking about the same thing when we talk about hope. Hope is a fluid thing, and when black people apply it, the goal can change from day to day. “I hope I don’t get pulled over today (aka, I hope I don’t get killed today).” “I hope my racist boss isn’t in today (aka, I hope I don’t have to hate myself for biting my tongue today).” Hope for…
View original post 590 more words
as a telescope
skips
loneliness
please love
this octopus
embracing
the outsourced
beehive
younger, I skin my knee in the museum of the dropped jaw. you say blue is a color and I say it’s a clock. god is there and is asking no one we know to leave space for a birthmark. we are somewhere between my grandmother dying and my grandmother dying. a noise outside could have come from this painting of three window-washers kissing the same egg or it could have come from outside.


