The mirror has family
Look, we are
in the garden
of brevity
(by very little, separated
)
No forgiven intimacy creates a star fast enough to keep memory in the kissed forehead of a burning child
Ohio deer
practice
freezing
Right, left
I hear my wife saying
to my son’s
wrist
in a dream, The last
church to hear of god’s death
sends an angel
to the first
Death can keep a secret for as long as you drink. If I’m running with my brothers, it’s a dream. Of course I want to feel better. I have a mother and a father. Angels eat babies looking for the astronaut’s fingernail. My singing voice in a church of blood forges a prescription for Ohio’s glass hunger. The empty bathtub passes out.
Shape has come to mean my body turns out the lights. There are no angels in the ocean. You can’t pay for my most medically alive son. Also I’ve never seen blood but bro I think there’s alot of it. I scream inside of my mother at a stone. Inside of my father’s ankle at my father. For a second I come to in the sexless bodies of my motherfull cousins and the doubled orphan christ writes to me in prose some advice on how to ruin a psalm. Oh long song of wrongdoing. Tattoo shop in a raindrop machine. Eat after me. The heart saves nothing. God even less.
Dying first in a brief world means nothing.
Pain
disproves
brevity, drinking
in the dark
saves
your brother.
Brothers.
Where were you when you didn’t like me
(The angels and their weird
practice children)
(A game of memory,
but it’s just the face of god) Find someone
who’ll eat
with you
the terror
I was too young for the dead frogs of my grandfather and too young in front of my grandmother to miss howling with my bare feet them same frogs away from sound. Talk however you want. An angel wakes up in an angel. My son’s body is always awake. I have what you have. A smoke machine from the weapons maker of Eden. The song I kill myself to isn’t clear. Test city horses free of disease renew their deafness in the eggshell sea. Cops don’t have nightmares.
Carry your hand into death.
Do this every day.
By hand I mean
the spot
that sleep
has missed.
Rabbit w/ exit wound
Appeal
unmarked
in moon’s
church
to the priest
of my drinking, Oh cross
I lose
my body
The age
of a gunshot
in heaven
God became a woman and died under a tree after making his little garden. His body was found by a hungry man who’d been walking for seven days chasing a receipt taken by the wind. Forget it, thought the man. The blow-up doll, apple chapstick, he’d not return.
Forgive
an angel.
A cigarette is the deepest fish that lightning can give to god.
What are we being softened for.
Merciless infant.
Given my soft bones and trash esophagus I thought I could write one first thing about beautiful deer. Ohio said no. Ohio said revelation is something time passes on its way to angels watching zombie movies that boast antichrist cameos. I was reaching for an icicle. Cold was a ruin my young birth couldn’t still. Obsession is so ineffective. Ask Joseph. If nothing happens to me, I want everyone to know I was suicidal. My rabbit hole plagiarizes the shape of yours. Rabbit abyss. Rabbit void. I just want to be naked in between your Adam and mine. Oh empty stomach on which I slide moonless from the eel of a lover’s hunger. Oh touch. Insomnia is the last stage of puberty. This display is called skinning the god in front of a star. I was reaching for an icicle in that last place that came with a dog. Wilderness, farm, fag. Slurs a way to keep horses from eating too much. Oh intimacy, distant frostbite. I was reaching for an icicle when southward the orange dog Jake gifted the gone inheritance of visibility to the blaze my eyes made of exodus. Dying has its moment in the museum of itself.
kingsoftrain 