kingsoftrain

~~~~~

DRIFT ACHE

creation
gives guilt
an afterlife

–

the neighbors
found dead, we learn

to miss

the dog afraid of everything

–

(sleep is a movie a mom was in

~~~~~

YET ACHE

what is not
there

in that late place
orphaned
by arrival

where a god
names
whose dying
it surprised

(is the last thing
he’ll touch
on purpose

~~~~~

BRINK ACHE

we died
in that dream
but continued
to understand.

I thought
sleeping
skin-to-skin
with my children
would cure
your fear
of flossing. every bomb

touches god.

I forgot
to be in pain.

~~~~~

KNOWN ACHE

I won’t keep you in suspense. I was born and then at a strip club crying for those tender people whose children put in private the final touches on god. also there is a meal being prepared that you won’t be able to finish before you die. the preparer of that meal has a least favorite creature and believes hundreds of corpses were dragged from eden by animals that were trying to experience joy. save it when you can

the last of the robot’s short grief

~~~~~

CORRECT ACHE

an angel leaves heaven to touch paper as a circle from my childhood rolls toward an empty jack-in-the-box. I am old enough to be sad and too old to separate deer facts from church facts. my children fall asleep before their hands fall asleep.

~~~~~

CLEAN ACHE

punched in our stomachs for remembering the sea, we are in a church that goes to church. it is here that a drop of god’s blood can change paper into plastic and here that bread is the bread and butter of hunger and hunger the oldest child in nothing’s choir. here that I count for a son who cannot count. for a son who sleeps on land on the lamb of his illness. (water is still the smallest toy and our mouths still come

from the same
noise

~~~~~

SALT ACHE

perhaps I am the thing that overtook me. that in its becoming was able to feel guilty about doing so. what if death is just looking for the one it’s named after. lonely I can almost see my eyes.

~~~~~

RABBIT ACHE

I can’t sit
for very long
without wanting
to smoke.

this is the flower
I pick
for my ghost.

~~~~~

REALM ACHE

I stand in a ruined field and preach longevity to a god that stares through me at the empty highchair of some freckled thing. my age is with me, there, and there to mean how far can I throw my food. if I close my eyes, I can see touch as a mirror that’s been used by my mother to describe sleep.

~~~~~

LIT ACHE

upon waking, my son knows he’s been moved. beside him I am crooked until he bites my arm. he is as heavy as the stomach of the angel that nightly kisses mine. illness has the patience of a shadow but cannot teach my eyes to kneel. time is god’s tenure as the lost tooth of sleep.

~~~~~

BEGINNING ACHE

the crow’s fear of inclusion. eve’s perfectly forgotten ribs. the nothing I mean to my dentist. the cemetery where all the un-boyed went to eat paper. the band-aid in the belly of a baptized child. yawn of kites.

~~~~~

HERMETIC ACHE

the one about loneliness. about the quarter, the cigarette, and the egg. about the odds of three hungers having an ear-shaped dream. about the dog-haunted car of my youth and how to cool the body with bread. about pulling over for the ambulance we’re in. about the number of rocks a stone counts in the hawk-like after-weight of a baptized child. the one about losing track of what I’m eating before I eat and the language god hears in both. the two about god

cutting god in half.

~~~~~

YEARS ACHE

my children haven’t gone a day without their stomachs. sometimes I lift my shirt and I think they mind. I want to tell them but won’t about the party we can’t throw for a dog whistle. fish are still building the sea.

~~~~~

ELDER ACHE

show me
the fireflies
of yours
that get
sad
around human
stomachs

(there is
a table

rain
will set

~~~~~

SIGNAL ACHE

the only things that grow here are creatures that don’t mind being eaten. my mother has given me two hands with the same name. if the second eye we open remembers having nothing, then our sleep has reached god.

~~~~~

[Burnings]

~nearness~

we share
an invisible
drop of rain

but not
a wrist

(the grass
looks a little
lost

~

~farness~

seeing
a frog
makes frog
an orphan

have I
the poem
we wrote

–

~pill~

but mom
even sleep
dissolves

–

~tattoo~

the spider in my left eye
is also
on the kitchen
floor
of a house

that’s gone

–

~lifelike~

fog has a better
memory
than rain

–

~grief~

yes there is one
footstep

left

–

~rain~

and the pulse
to god
a scar

–

~frogsong~

depression
decorates
a bird

–

~miscarry~

perhaps a deer
had stepped
on my wrist

–

~osmosis~

the son takes with him a knife into the bathroom and

–

~church~

entering the body after a stroke

–

~sex~

two
as if they fear
a third

–

~angels~

mystique
that surrounds
a small town
search party

–

~chthonic~

a prayer asking god to brush your teeth

–

~hunger~

my first
backpack

–

~fraction~

sadness
over something
deleted

–

~intro~

writing is where one goes
to write, it is

(outside of water
not being
blue)

the bluest
place

–

~cigarette burn~

the shadow
in my arm

–

~mirror~

the shadow in my arm

(is of
a piece
of glass

–

~~~~~

publications, recent:

GHOST ARSON
15.00
Kung Fu Treachery Press, published Dec 2018
*first non self-published full-length collection

orders can be made via paypal to ghostarson@gmail.com or by using link:
PayPal.Me/ghostarson

or via Venmo @Barton-Smock-1

*be sure to include your address in the notes field

**all copies will be signed

or one can send a check to:
Barton Smock
5155 Hatfield Drive
Columbus, OH 43232

on amazon:

at barnes & noble:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/ghost-arson-barton-smock/1129931893?ean=9781946642868

REVIEWS:

review by Dd. Spungin: https://kingsoftrain.com/2018/11/28/dd-spungins-review-of-ghost-arson/

review by George Salis: https://kingsoftrain.com/2018/12/17/review-by-george-salis-of-barton-smocks-ghost-arson/

~~~~~

private (self) publications 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

*free PDFs available upon request made to bartsmock@gmail.com