kingsoftrain

This uniform allows this unmarked man to call discovered those who’ve been overly printed by phantoms of touch. My word is crow and your word is bruise. Dying is not a dream but dying dreams on a beach of dust. Entry is the ghost muscle of arrival. Memory

the last joke that god told to no creature with a name. I wasn’t born, but wanted you miss me. How else. How so.

Pain's crushed wilderness

for god
fed to
a bird

Do not love me. Wear, suddenly, clothes. Restore on a lake of ice the groundhog to its ghost. Moan my fingerprint through a drughouse stork. Flee the young museum or the youngest that turns you on. Eventually there will be a church and your balls will drop. It’s a joke, of course. Not quite insect art. But def a tornado’s bones. 

The deer is an arsonist with bones of golden weeping. The horse is a worried god with two eyes made of salt. Ohio is the attic where my sister would name mountains after mountains no one knew of. The angel is a mistake, seen twice, like a breast or a footprint. Hell is where we pretend the devil is the oldest thing in hell. I write myself cut. Blood says the age of the blood I was born with.

No aliens
after all.

Just us
seeing
if we've died.

My son's
laugh
might
be a seizure.

Some say the crow

some
say buzzard.

The exact
bomb

cannot matter.

I was sad
and had
sad friends.

I made no bread.
Bread was everywhere.

The eating, I called it love.

I called
love

The waiting.

I lost
my drinking
like hair.

Drank in a darkroom
from a floor of milk.

I speak the names of my brothers into the book of bitemarks. I have more arms and they more muscles and they more issues with their legs. I am so poor that my work does all the work. My tongue does nothing. It’s not possible to be obsessed with sex. With death. You’re born with a mask that no one saves. Everything makes god sick. Stop being alone.

i.

I strike a match and my pillow thinks I'm out of teeth.

ii.

An insomniac's rainbow

and
or Jesus

walking
his dog.

iii.

You can't die
from wetting the bed.