We live as if god could ever be homesick. When I’m not looking, my body ah fuck. No golden melancholy for the surgeon with crushed hands. Death needs dying to be real.
Real teeth, too, in Eden. I skip a rock and know it. Overhear with you how that baby isn’t going to shoot itself. Also overhear how terrible people often go to the bathroom more. Boy alone holds a dead rabbit over a junkyard toilet. Girl alone thinks it’s about to be alive. They’ll share almost nothing. A quick birth in a bitten place.
Jesus lied about who he was, then god took him in. I fix my car with pain. I fix the showerhead, the cricket problem, my children with pain. Not place. Not with place. Place is a bleeding footstep. I will let you kill me. It will take three days. I won’t come back.
Please give my eyes eyes
birthplace 76 I finish inventing my body. Touch has lengthened the life of your wrist and shortened that of your neck. The three dogs sent to look for hell explode prematurely. I want to have these talks. Dog parts and lost hell. My hair dead longer than yours.
I’m not curious about the real world An animal in pain believes in animal pain Not unlike plastics nostalgia is found in god I am in the wrong house The family is dead The movers come
I was somewhere safe. My eyes went grey. God had simpler hair.
I too slowly stare. You’re not invisible
birthplace 75 The hourless stone I throw after the needless velocity of youth. The soundman’s daughter who mustn’t know she’s been resurrected. The river I don’t know in the ear that I do. Grief the god of spotlights. The movie we made using the three collarless dogs we could find and the bush that wouldn’t catch fire. God the grieving stoplight. The last past.
Our baby’s ghost allergic to balloons A water snake’s quiet past Glow worms puberty’s little gods The paw that fools the sleeping road
kingsoftrain 