kingsoftrain

Try
in a coffin
to roll
a cigarette

The eyes have only 
their childhood

I only believe in god because of how long god takes 
to kill my children. 

Anyway, live.
Scare touch.

God’s stomach is a cigarette trying to eat on the moon. I am asleep in my homage to sleep. In hell you have to give birth to everyone you’ve killed. You can’t have your kids.

God died doing math in a nightmare. Not everyone was able to hide the body. Men without mothers bit themselves thinking it would lead to nakedness. Angels did the same but thought nothing. Fire chased an empty bus past the cemetery of the three things I couldn’t name. Into a small life of startled handguns, people in photos were born. Gameshows, I said plainly, above a hole the ground touches for being hungry.

No one told me I was crying. 
Here is what I thought:
It can’t get lonelier 
than the birth of god.
My ribs had a message
for a toothache. Babies 
are never 
young.

Fingernails, seashells, toothpaste, breastmilk

Bring 
this bomb 
into heaven