depictions of reentry, parts i thru iii, published at FORAGE, here:
https://foragepoetry.com/2016/07/02/three-poems-by-barton-smock/
~
depictions of reentry (iv)
/ the tadpole torching my stomach in the museum of the heartless alligator
/ the spider the star in suicide’s eye
/ the crow in the devil’s purse
~
depictions of reentry (v)
/ you can work here for nine months
/ it’s not like riding a bike
it’s more
like kneeling
in the center
of a stickman’s
nightmare
/ never you mind
the bloated
baby’s
yellow
tooth
/ at least the sick
they confuse
death
~
depictions of reentry (vi)
night terror, the handwriting
of imago’s
child…
/ resurrection, a memoir
~
depictions of reentry (vii)
/ the hands and the crushed mind they crawl from
/ god of the briefly ugly
/ the homeless child of nostalgia’s native
/ graveyard
our game
of telephone
~
depictions of reentry (viii)
we laugh about them now
scarecrows
the stepchildren
of apocalypse…
pregnancy as suicide prevention.
be wowed
by stuff
on earth.
~
depictions of reentry (ix)
before I got sick
there was a sound
my mother
could make
and a bird
perched
on the arm
of a snowman…
angels, yeah
some
grab their ears
when trapped
~
depictions of reentry (x)
the unlit candle
desertion’s birthday
–
the voice
is not god’s
that experiments
on children
but ask
away
–
the dog we buried
is sometimes
on fire
watched
we think
by our sister’s
cooking
~
depictions of reentry (xi)
and in dreaming
of what to use
for its body
and its blood
the devil
began
to starve / when it snowed
it snowed
on a tooth / this was in
the same
Ohio
where brothers
ruin
now
with hiccups
games
of hide-and-seek
/ anyway, sister said the crow had it coming
and I made this face we called
god
as a boy
tasting
a star…
~
depictions of reentry (xii)
mom needs a jar of jelly to call the priest. try as he might, my brother can’t seem to get his tongue stuck to the oven door. my hands are here to hide the fact I’m wearing gloves. dad snaps three pictures before passing out. the voodoo dolls of my invisible babies have passed each other underground. I am thinking of things you can do.
~
depictions of reentry (xiii)
a suicide
from my past,
a surprise
party
for death…
/ if I lose my voice long enough
will they let me
wear
the mask
~
depictions of reentry (xiv)
the newborn
yawns, reveals
god
to be
a biter
–
I don’t
in my sleep
do anything
let alone
impressions
–
it’s hell on an image
the mirror’s
alibi
~
depictions of reentry (xv)
I went outside and hid god under a rock then went inside and put a pillow over my brother’s face. don’t worry, my brother lived and god grew stronger. in fact, by morning, my mother was so at peace she finished my brother off with a cotton ball. my dad bought a boat and said the older they are the smaller the mouth. people came from a mirror called practice.
~
depictions of reentry (xvi)
with a sock in its mouth
suicide
the birthday
ghost
/ having heard
of the shadow
animal’s
ear
for the hand
puppet’s
collapse /
passes through
a wall
into a room
where a balloon
eating out
a prophet
stops not
to hiss
kingsoftrain 