and in the spacecraft where a mother diapers the doll that makes her fat there plays the voice of god asking for a film crew none will miss
lonelier than creation, I have nothing on trauma. genetically speaking, I don’t think anybody expected us to spend so much time on one idea. this open umbrella. ghost at the keyboard.
a body to dry my blood. some god
seeing me
as a person…
how quickly birth gets old.
praying he’ll see again them cows of lake suicide, the handcuffed frog shepherd
prays he’ll see again them cows of lake suicide
tree: the unbathed statue of your screaming
–
shade: the folder of my clothes
outside the bathroom’s designer absence, our melancholy impressed by symbolism, we form
a line
we put a museum on the moon. I had all my dreams at once. a mouse was wrapped in a washcloth then crushed with the songbook of baby hairless. fire treats grass like fire.
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.
the man his shadow and the woman her dream.
their child
its track
of time
