God got to die with no one around. My son will soon reach the highest age he's allowed to be healthy at. I was a boy pointing a capgun at roadkill. I plan my return. I plan it knowing.
Your mother saw you in no dream
and your father
threw a rabbit
at a tornado
Alien
with insomnia
the rabbit
had a chance
I was born in the shape of my death.
I got there first, I'd say.
To god after god
until it got old
God cuts himself in Eden but this isn’t a dream. I eat near my son. My son cannot imagine himself beyond yesterday. My happiness for him trails off like a language the brain can decide on. I worry my pretty little head over the amount of skin god goes through daily. Yearly I sleep for a baby or two.
Nothingness surrounds its own escape. God a godless ghost stuck in a thirst trap. Death has one shape but the lonely are fast learners. There were things in my mouth put there to check on my mouth. My son is as young as a hoax. As god needing rest. As not wanting to eat you but wearing your clothes.
A cannibal fasting during a lightning storm deletes his imagined mother from a drug company computer in Ohio
I add three lines of code to what I do in my sleep to keep my son sick
There are writers who crawl out of god to tell us about the legs of god
Love is for the crucified and kids from the waist up
My kids shoot each other
It's okay it's school
I could describe it, but can't
go through
your angel
change
(a mirror
for the lonely
two mirrors
for the not
((a cop
belly up
in boy
life
