a brother
dodges
suicide
with a piece
of paper
that doesn’t
work. a mother’s
blood
goes white
at the ink
of amnesia.
bus stop, breastmilk
there was
no me.
at what would god
not
be caught
dead? speaking
is how we talk
to the words
we say.
the field
where father
sold
from a grounded
helicopter
a fog
machine
to one
whose pregnancy
had not
ended / the field
where brother
found
in a condom
a piece
of chalk / the field
sorta
field
like
with its puppies
and its trash / yeah
there is something to be said
I don’t know what
to echo’s
first
love / the dizzy
spells
of deer
purgatory
the map lover’s
heaven
–
tea time
and your doll
has no
belly button
–
is your blood clot
still
a cloud
Lulu is offering 20% off all print books with coupon code of JANEND20
~
my newest, [earth is part earth and there’s a hole in the sound I made you from], is here:
~
some poems from said collection:
[absence vision]
wherein
the white soup
of thought
that could not
sustain
the brainless
pilot
of paper
airplanes
was drawn
from my son’s
unheard
ear
might memory
attend
foresight
the church
of loss
[motheresque]
she can’t stop herself
from knowing
the fleas
are burning
what with
her passionless
baby
its biological
god
god was created to remember everything. so says the rock to the tooth starting small.
–
there is a gallery of unfinished work and a space for the baby to crawl through.
–
her feet stick out of the mirror she’s been using to give birth.
–
lost: frostbite. lost: space suit.
will work
for feeding
tube.
–
holy asthma
holy
crossbones
–
old hat
this human
head.
ago, we buried something here that has kept us calm. my father lived in a beat-up car and over time he became its radio. some kids from town came once to push the car and my father got out to help. one of the kids was my mother when my mother could still see what others could not. her favorite sound remains that of a severed head banging around in a time machine. so many kids went missing here that couples make more on the spot. the animals try but have so far kept god going.
you’re dying
when someone
closer
dies
father
son
I saw them kill
out of hunger
the angel
could prepare
angel
–
it is wholly birdlike
the thought
that brings oil
to god
–
the sleeping alien
is not without
its headless
astronaut (the first thing
–
one sees
hallucinates
to stuff our faces or to knit the same hat for the unseen gargoyle of our still life or better yet to give legs to the rugburn it takes to find a newborn’s nose
two brothers come to blows over which sister likes fast food more. a man we want to love is shadowboxing a snowdrift from the parable of touch. blood is a food group. I pray to my hair. call my footwork by name. take my time
with amnesia.
baby facts include being born again in the museum you were carried to.
