suicide took the person she was named during.
I am old, here. a klutz abstaining from revelation.
bald as any
lover
of maps.
daughter has a language keeps her quiet.
penny
is a pillow
for my father’s
blood.
lamb- every other
I am the light at the end of blood
or blood is my favorite dress
I was a fish. it wasn’t enough.
–
we’re the founders
of absence. off the clock
–
like newborns
before you know it, you’ll create time.
let now
give me hope
for the past
and there I was, sad
my robot
giving hell
to an elevator
and I was forty-one
and still not there
the day that kid
got beat up
for keeping sadness
close
and I was never the poorest
in any room
is this what being poor means or meant
grief
that we can brush at the fossil
of grief
Jon Cone has four poems at ~isacoustic~
I have no memory that is not a silence we sang in unison
is this a ghost or the future of my teeth
is your dad still a god
I interpret the wrong dream
do you
forget
for you I would covet the broken arm of a snake
in grief’s
heaven
kingsoftrain 