Dear Kiik Araki-Kawaguchi,
I wrote so many letters to Ethan Hawke. I was overweight with doom. My imagery was photographed fasting. A thorn and a spear dreamt of being on the same side of god. I have read or now am reading Disintegration Made Plain and Easy and got get super drunk. Ethan Hawke disappears in the capital of absence. I’m not funny. My joke about ache and echo never grows balls enough to go long in the tooth. Nakedness goes from person to person. I fall in love with an animal pacing outside of a theater so full of self harming children that I yearn for that future where I continue to read your book instead of reviewing every film showing at a covid porn marathon. Let’s not be sick. Am I in front of a mirror that believes in god? Anyway, into my dream comes all of my skin looking for a map might it find the blue pen that sends the devil’s blood to hell. Last night was perfectly boring. Last night was perfectly boring.
A deer to kiss my neck
A horse to want a wrist, oh
wait
The moment just after the tackle when we’re all still and can’t be seen together
I don’t love anyone until I drink
The being that changes into your mother
is your mother
I shape myself to death
Miss you
into leaving
in the poem
I leave
the poem
to situate
his body
None of this is interesting. Two people born lonely say I do at different times. We watch our seeing. Cigarettes keep me from dreaming about snow. Ohio deer mock windows for bleeding like a perfect mirror. Weird alcohol machines program invisible reset buttons. Ohio boys howl three times milk. Death is a magic trick that puts god to sleep.
I thought they said call off the dolls. God is the different word for god. I rolled my brother’s eye under a door and into a room the color of his eye. Grief is the last cigarette of kingdom. Are you watched like god or watched like a baby? (how to tell if you’re a baby) How lonely: I dream of doing the job I have. What does a mouth do but reach for a mouth? Fall asleep waiting for an angel to eat your teeth. The child I’m selling comes with a gun.
raccoon light
loneliness
your mouth
no mouth
has
autofiction is isolating
or god
doesn’t write
about women
raccoon light
cancer in the skinned person’s empty hospital takes my cock’s confession
the beginning
grief, ashtray, arson
I talk my horror angel into never again using an oven
eggs
in microwaves
miss
my missed
& secretly
ate
teeth
the lost
ghost
hidden
by Eve
forever
a sickness
falling
ill
a bomb
in time
a hole
in a child
the childhood
of that
hole
unslept
in exhausted
stillness
do we know
god
where stuff
is
snow
on nothing's
cricket
kingsoftrain 