in the name of all things unfixable, have a new self-published full length collection {everything I touch remembers being my hand} available somewhere below. some of it was partially and formerly a private thing called {so sang} but I wasn’t happy with the layout. if you have it in its former shape, my apologies for directing you there.
as always, will send free PDF of the work to anyone requesting. also free hard copy to anyone interested in writing a review. such requests can be made to bartonsmock@yahoo.com
also, thru November 26th, Lulu is offering 30% off all print books with coupon code of LULU30
~
everything I touch remembers being my hand / poems
172 pages, 9.00
can I miss
my body
with yours
our blood
the loneliest
bone
i.
to be called forth
from nothing
how perfect
/ no melancholy
is fair
to insect
ii.
would that we could be separated
later
by birth
that we might enjoy
shape
/ the darkness of being remembered
Lulu is offering 30% off all print books thru Nov 26th with coupon code of LULU30. my newest is {L A I T Y}
poems from collection {L A I T Y}:
[having a disabled child]
means:
there is a tent
being studied
by dream.
missing
more than snow
the ashes
of snow.
footwear. and checking
our food
for holes.
means keeping
dry
a diver’s
eyelash. and leaving
to finish
absence.
~
[tenderness]
it is there
in the way
my father
refolds
a single
grocery bag
for a cyclops
that never
arrives
~
{we brought home the wrong dying baby}*partial
onstage a dog barks at an empty stroller. the mosh pit is weak. last count had three pregnant, three resembling the man who unplugged my father, and two praying for the inner life of a hole. onstage a boy is holding up a kite for another boy to punch. dog’s been tased.
–
sickness in the young is god’s way of preventing nostalgia from becoming the god I remember
–
I was beautiful…
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I am from the future (I miss
you) there is a way
to contort
the body
and deepen
scarecrows (my son
has an illness)
I’ve seen
in pictures
a year older than his violence
the over-feeder
of goldfish, the quietest lover
of his voice
would bruise
when his ghost
would blush
ISACOUSTIC*
please check out the work of Jon Cone, first contributor to {isacoustic*}: https://isacoustic.wordpress.com/2017/11/15/person-jon-cone-four-poems/
{isacoustic*} is a small place of mine and of some others, and is also somewhat yours. poems and poetry reviews and other misc.
guidance:
submit no less than [3] and no more than [7] poems to: isacousticsubmissions@gmail.com / /poems can be in the body of the email or attached as PDF, doc, docx / include a brief and non-clever bio
in order to be published, [3] of the poems in the submission must be selected by the editors / /all three poems will be published in one post / postings will occur weekly or bi-weekly
payment for a selected submission is 15.00 (5.00 per poem) / payment will be made within one month of the posting / previously published and simultaneous submissions are okay
every three months, the editors will self-publish a journal of…
View original post 871 more words
I pine more for the being god was thinking about when he made you. visually, the moons of pain. where circled by what. the one-eyed lambs.
kingsoftrain 