I king my scalp with smoke-damaged eggs. a man is here from the church of predictable witness. each sound is worse than the last.
it treats the paintball injuries of contagious dogs. dry-humps to the sobbing of saint visitation. its sister delivers her own snowball in the binoculars of a man with a limp and a finite supply of plastic lawnmowers. I learn about its town from a poster meant to attract what’s never left. this is where I go to look like I’m here.
I think of the wind. how all it can do is ask for mercy. do you know my mom? my sister? my daughter has a pet that disappears when famous. sadness has no opposite.
/ not that I have two birds
but that I ask
for the stone
back
/ nothingness
edited
for space
ask god how long it takes to decide on a language. remember the dead bear. the sleepy spoon. ask the soul about its weakness for image.
for fainting
in the afterlife
its child
reenactment
and bastard
audition
my eyes were invisible
it is hard for the nostalgic to forgive. I was raised on awareness and reincarnation. I remember, doghouse, the dollmaker’s tornado. and how to clear for my drunkest brother a mousetrap from a mountain path. believing, as a hostage would, in the taker’s amnesia.
poor death, sleep
the shoe
that never
drops
and poorer
dream
mine of a foot being nailed to a seesaw made of light
yours
what the rabbit
did
to its knee
