kingsoftrain

god upon re-entry died dreaming of re-entry

On an Ohio backroad, a costume is begging for the short life of shape. There is no land of touch but in the land of touch a blue sun goes from eye to eye of the less crucified. In pain, my son runs out of pain. His mouth has a language that stays in his mouth. I think often of that first that ableist garden. It is always today. 

Instead of saying arm, my son bites my leg while daydreaming. My body is a skintight sickness. Saint meaning angel, angel meaning saint. A bruise moves through a fish. Silence a glitch. Absence the tooth fairy of absence. 

Sorry but if your kids are dying, time exists. God sucks at revenge. I can’t dream during a thunderstorm nor sleep with my mouth closed. All art is about the bomb. When I was sick, I wasn’t. My food was going to hell. It is always too soon to be the angel that appears to Franz Wright. A whale can’t imagine swallowing but here in the anecdotal remoteness of my other stomach is the fat baby made of clothes. Create slowly. Don’t go to heaven. You’re just one person.  

toothfall
season
on moons 
of disrepair

Light’s
egglike
silence
Rock
paper
infant
Infant
omen
hair

I listen to my son’s heart 

Peel an orange

Sleep
empty

no hours
on this poster
the museum 
of not 
being found
no anything
but friend
it’s the hours

touch
in a sunless
microwave

where burns
the ghost 
of both