Letter 070124 misreckonings
Dear Ethan Hawke
Your mother was pulling out her hair on the moon. It all came back, but god doesn’t know what a baby is. I talk with my violent son. He’s not violent. Looking will live longer than seeing.
Had a very cool time answering some questions posed to me by the amazing writer George Salis on The Collidescope Podcast. I'm not so good in person or on-air, and I let technology and spirits overtake me by the end, but George was a gracious host and let real-time take me back. You can listen to the episode HERE.
~
Detail and devil:
In this episode, Barton Smock and I discuss the essence of poetry, death metal, the fear of god, the state of contemporary poetry, and more.
Barton Smock lives in Columbus, OH, with his wife and four children. He is the author of numerous self-published works. Author of Ghost Arson (Kung Fu Treachery Press, 2018) and Wasp, gasp. (Incunabula, 2023).
Buy Wasp, gasp here
Hungrily Poetic: An Interview with Barton Smock
Support The Collidescope’s efforts via Patreon and get awesome benefits:
www.TheCollidescope.com
Intro/outro music: DJ Griffin
I will wear your face and show it to god
Letter 062824 voiceovers
Dear Ethan Hawke
Nothing creation makes is as ghostless as a baby. If a being needs rest, then a being can get sick, get better, be killed. Pain keeps the body in the past. I drink in the present.
Letter 062724 the painted door of hell and the non
Dear Ethan Hawke
I’ve seen a person lose a scar in a game of telephone. I talk bliss into a cup and the first time a child touches the earth their hands are underground. I wrote a poem called wheelchair machine all about my son’s footprint. Where it could be.
Palestine is not a spiritual what-if. We are at play in fields of ghostlike ghosts and call ourselves real. America is a false visionary. Nuance is a ruin. Witness is necessary. Do more than look, here:
The Night Won't End
In angel, the name of my son’s sickness means interrupted by peace. Heaven’s only there if you don’t go.
mannequin
eden
welcomes
drone
Letter 062624 a knife loses consciousness
Dear Ethan Hawke
I was going to write a letter to Elliott Smith and apologize to him for thinking he sang this one Sparklehorse song. I started the letter but it put me to sleep and I went on to have a nightmare where I was Peter and kids were asking me about Jason Molina and I just kept saying Ohio Ohio Ohio and I was half awake when god told me there were actually three roosters and I needn’t have died. Touch turns off its hands.
The rains came and the animals were empty. The devil refused to be naked. Canary after crushed canary was rubbed into the body of god. I prayed for you a pregnancy test and a plastic knife. An angel asked me to identify my dental records. I spoke angel.
kingsoftrain 