My son dies and my card gets charged three times. I am stunned by no single thing. When I read I read so little under the star of my drinking that touch becomes the lost ambassador of a body I can draw from memory. I can’t imagine my brothers being loved. I can’t imagine my brothers being loved on the same day. I hate how I sit in chairs in my dad’s house. My mom says I write to hurt. My son's stomach is a shape he forgets devouring. In the angel’s ear, plastic is the voice of god.
The farness in me, far
I walk to where
my children are
Born to surveil god, we disappeared
A prayer
asking a shadow
when
can I eat
Invisibly
rare
insect
spirituals
Ghost
after ghost
hired
by loss
They are about eating and sleeping and/or eating and sleeping in front of god. I should have been clearer. Moth after moth, the writing left me. I put my nudes in tornado country mailboxes. This wasn’t dangerous. I had a car and I had a gun. I still can’t see myself doing it. An angel can be killed by two things. A baby is one.
My naked brother
drinking from my hand
before his scene with the microscope
I can begin
to describe it
The chewed-up bird in a repaired egg
A perfect dog carries a sound past a quiet cop car
Past a cigarette burn, a soup bowl, and a tattoo artist
Past a field
in pain
The untouched brain
Babies kill angels all the time. Resurrection is genetic. I yesterday handed my sickest child to a police officer whose two memories are hunger strike and gun range. When I look at you, you have a mother. I thought it would help to get a thing back. Clocks at night, clocks at night. I’m not alone in a machine that makes me.
I open my mouth in the dark. Your teeth are gone by morning. God didn’t think we’d see him.
There’s no way to call your mom from here. Two birds fight over the same egg thinking it’s a stone. Dying keeps death awake in the dream we use to describe this place. We don’t like being watched. Each in the end are the terrified pervert of their own stunned loneliness. Who hit god
kingsoftrain 