puppets for dental hygiene
god
the animal
on auto
pilot
/ seen shoving a burnt doll into a book return
the nobody
birth
reminds
note: for those who expressed interest in my late February mailing of some of my recent works, the publication being sent is titled {CRY shape} and is a selection of poems from the last year or so, as well as some newer poems. it stands, sinks, at 244 pages. the publication will not be made available, at any point, publicly…so, if you lose it, or it loses you, no further harm can be done.
pain had a son whose right hand became the receiver of a jailhouse telephone. whose left remained a seashell. pain’s wife a daughter whose shadow became a puppet when she’d floss.
I was still new
to the angel
when I reached
gloveless
into the deer
for the baby
god
froze
mom looked for a large moth
to stick
with a fork, brother
made to strangle
a coat
the man lives in his car and his children live in a store that’s out of everything. his dog has forgotten how to eat. things are on what any good god would call a collision course. he shows me nude photos he says he can’t look at until he knows for sure that the people in them are somewhere naked. he wants me to work on writing with a sense of place. not me, he says. move grief.
this was in my dream. and this. and she was there and she has two kids, a boy and a girl, and a husband, there he his, who’s killed himself. I kept saying, after every thought, behold. went home with a woman who insisted she was born pregnant. slept like a wolf addicted to car alarms. saw the saddest foodfight.
I imagine it puts a hole in a demon, this combing of underwater things to protect the toenails of painted men. mom is this void the last of its kind?
I thought it was a movie about dancing and you thought it was a movie about the devil. our feet were warm. remember the alarm? worlds to which none were added.
I was having trouble remembering my dreams so I began to see someone who wasn’t. my demeanor was approachable, he said, but cerebral. he said we were in unfamiliar territory. he asked me if I’d mind looking at some pictures he’d forgotten to draw. jokes of the trade, he said. the first few dreams I think were his and were probably so by design. the two scarecrows, witch-hunt and crucifixion, came soon enough but were paired wrongly as husband and wife. their little klutz.
