a man goes unmolested into the knowledge of his body. has one hand had no choice. puts a doll in a carseat. makes his boy watch. a man recoils mid-dream
from a caterpillar. I am
what I’m
again.
it takes illness
three seasons
and absence
one
to go
nowhere-
explain to my ghost
how my son
has two-
there will be other kids
a weaker
doorbell, a dog
underfoot
as we fry
in church-
had I known
they were details…
psalm alas, kid-
I located
for nothing
odd prank
the minimalist
pulls
on death
the having
of a slow
son
whose mother
reappears
in the grocery
storm
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my self published poetry collections are here:
http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/acolyteroad
my most recent self published collection is ~MOON tattoo~, here:
http://www.lulu.com/shop/barton-smock/moon-tattoo/paperback/product-22634440.html
some poems from available collections:
[cripplings ]
touch is a sign of weakness. my father opens his mouth after speaking. meanwhile, miracle, it occurs to me in separate car accidents that bringing me to my son in god is less an undertaking than that of arming the man who transports a stopwatch to a cemetery. do we live the lives of those experimenting? beauty is not alone. suppose it knows.
~
[notes for stimuli]
I start my sentences
like this:
the thing is.
thing is
my son
like yours
is dying. thing is
I was told
by god
to be a man.
I love you all.
I love
but start a fight
with someone
I’ve never met
over what
a fucking
poverty
no one
talks to
not
in years.
one must apple boldly in a cornfield of rust.
baby clotheshorse
eats baby
litmus.
taste
keeps my tongue
in the dark.
~
[fasting vision]
to punish my brother
for no reason
I told him
I could see
his stomach’s
shadow
but because
my visions
never
work
I vomited
what my sister
ate
~
[sylvan vision]
nudes
from the circus
of harm
grab
the evolved
handle
of my father’s
apocalypse
and though
I call it easy
what I’ve gone
on the doll piss
I can’t help
but bride
up
a storm
giving oral
to a corncob
from fixation’s
honeymoon
~
[daughteresque]
what would she ask
sadness
that old blindfold
from the future
how did you
get old, how
did my father
eat
and eat
at the same
time
perhaps
you’ve seen it
the mask
that took
my face
~
[forty]
because I wanted the poem
to feel
as rare
as my father’s
anger, and because
a pigeon
is
what it eats, and because
mad with bread
the oven
my brother
buried
took a snapshot
of our dog
bigfoot
sleeping
in hell, and because
my son is not a pattern
his body
can resume: the alien was impressed
but my mother
god love her
was bored
~
[BURNINGS]
~reanimation
it is nothing
compared
to the sobbing
of worms
~outhouse
the bathtub is full of piss
it wants to be
an egg
~frogsong
depression
decorates
a bird
~miracle
a bunk-bed for sister’s hair
firstborn
I came
to soften
my brother.
before my mother knew how to sleep,
I slept. father
was a thing
forgotten
by something
real.
lighten up, dream, we’re light
on crow.
the animal
your favorite
you won’t
become.
agewise
and younger
than stillness
the river, the room…
my dad
he tries
to cross
his mind.
has anyone
met me?
there were two people
both
in character
and god
was afraid
to wash
my heart. no baby
in a mailbox
bled.
~
uppers
god gets fucked-up about which hair to harm on your head. in some, this goes on for years. I have a lucky razor, a father who’s blind in one hand, and a suicidal thought that scares me to death in front of cops. my last meal came to me on a toothbrush.
~
lists (vi)
tragedy
to an angel
is
the ghost
of an alien
~
first appeared
father kicks me under the table
for biting
early.
a ghost hears thunder.
~
detail
was the fruit
made them want
teeth
~
notes to abuser
I have had to tell time using only repetition. there is a tattoo I want on a body I don’t. I can see what you see in me. none of my sounds echo. I have a son. I prepare for him past meals that leave nothing untouched hoping he’ll learn to chew on his own. he has three rooms upstairs and three down. when his bed can’t move, he says something to a door.
~
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–
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–
infant*cinema reading on youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxbbGliwhl0
–
from infant*cinema
in the video, the young woman is being force-fed cake by a man with a ruined tongue. my mother can’t eat and watch at the same time. your mother is holding me and wondering what happened to this thing. our fathers are veering into the realm of film criticism. where you are depends wholly on my sister’s makeup. god’s parents have no concept of time.
kingsoftrain 