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
we couldn’t get a horse because we had this one dog would fake sick. had this nurse would sleep with her shoes on. I don’t know how many of us there were. I had more fevers than god had footprints to follow. had an insect to offer worry. we were poor and perfect when pretending to be. father had a hat that remembered our names and mother a kite she called the birthday of a ghost. I wanted to be a girl but my sorrow was too southern. had a sister and she asked her baby what do angels have. I never saw for myself the ransom note from hell we couldn’t touch. parts came in pairs so both would answer.
the loneliness
that schoolwork
provides
is god
his body
is your body
has nothing
to leave
a newborn wants to be a hand.
there’s the dream I have of heaven
and the dream
god lets me
bring.
my boy
has a crow
for a backpack.
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.
the abuse
continued
it was almost
slapstick
he looked
at a plate
clean, hell’s radar
Drone
& Chickenhouse
poems, barton smock, at 84 pages.
$6.00
October 2015.
made or unmade. not for pockets. meditations after a perceived impact. book is here:
http://www.lulu.com/shop/barton-smock/drone-chickenhouse/paperback/product-22390933.html
strays
in orange
bless
the brains
they bless
the trash…
–
what nothing
you haven’t
seen
–
the hand-me-down
travel
sickness
that cocoons
in some
what cottons
to others
–
dryness
the money
of angels
sadness
has only
the followers
it takes
from melancholy. a dog
a dot
of a dog
see it
master
the secret
farm.
he drops a knife in her lap and calls her a butcher. it is beyond cute
the way his stomach
becomes
a third
fist. her cigarette
is a portal
takes her
to the baby
can suck
the air
from a room.
