waiting
to photograph
an Ohio
bathtub, my father
chainsmokes
in a stalled
car
(a peephole
disappears
and a rabbit’s
foot
being earlier drawn to a pilot’s imperfect nostalgia,
a hypothetical form
goes online
to cry…
(eyesight is sorrow’s smallest garden
(a whole
church
for the errors
of fiction
we had beautiful conversations but the earth was dying.
you remember god and I
god wanting
a child.
mother with her skin condition was at the chalkboard.
so alone / as to be / inherited
(we thought
in poems…
a doll
we said
a doll
pretending to miss its empty
bar
of soap. (I was
unpray
to your
longlessness. art was the clock of the poor.
which
angel’s elbow
is
the mouth, oh body
you are a life’s
work
in one
language (when mom
says
mom says
(a clock to a bruise was a star
get your copy today. just kidding. you can get it tomorrow, too.
Ghost Arson
poems by Barton Smock
Kung Fu Treachery Press, 2018
15.00
orders can be made via paypal to ghostarson@gmail.com or by using link:
PayPal.Me/ghostarson
or one can send a check to:
Barton Smock
5155 Hatfield Drive
Columbus, OH 43232
*be sure to include your address in the notes field
**all copies will be signed
~
if interested in reviewing, contact me at ghostarson@gmail.com
facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/ghostarson/
review by Dd. Spungin: https://kingsoftrain.com/2018/11/28/dd-spungins-review-of-ghost-arson/
facebook live reading: https://www.facebook.com/barton.smock/videos/10155837390135423/
rubbing
in that first
cornfield
my knees
as if
I’d popped
above a hairless
baby
some balloon
or spider’s
house
a snake
designs itself
from memory
and does so
with the patience
of the bedridden
mother
whose unlit
cigarette
(whose puppet
hope
you are poor and have the wrists of a beachcomber. god writes a play about sleep. I rest my eyes and my father’s microphone becomes the nightmare my mother has where she presses the fingernail no ant is under. you think you’re the ghost of your mouth.
