birthplace 74 God hasn’t been back since the aliens touched us. I want to eat, but don’t want to explore my body. There are three days I dream about. The egg-broken snow, the son of soon, and the neverending bone of the moon. Die second.
A ballerina bites my ear. I play dead but am not recognized doing so on land by a swimmer. I started writing because people didn’t watch the movies I recommended. Being kind to your children won’t work. Give god hair. Tell god it’s human for tattoo. A ballerina bites my ear because a ballerina cannot scream. In every Eden, a set of false teeth.
Inside the father there is a frostbitten starfish. It is not out of place. Say simpler things. A car drifts through a pharmacy and doesn’t explode. Expired painkillers have in them a crying and I walk on broken grass. Say to purple that an impossible fly digs a hole for its unsalted fly friend. Kill every god whose son isn’t real.
Bright unfilmed poverty Body joy, Imagery that can’t move
The piano player’s glass of black milk Wasp grief, mosquito grief Passwords that keep god sober Arm grief
xix. The mother is born for years before you miss her. People almost ask for a smoke.
Writing at all is a darkness. Reading, at least, lets hell be hell. I had kids, I guess, so that I could save them. It’s impossible for death to be busy. Pain isn’t ready for the animal. I’d practice, but am too small to travel.
Microwave, tick bite, mood ring. Eel on tv that can see the ghost of an angel. A bomb that tells us we could have just filmed everything. A mosquito stuck to the son of god.
my son’s many imaginary deaths have to happen daily as he goes from bath to bed as a bruise as a faded god wrongly recalling the color blue and he laughs and we scrape our worry across our shallow knowing and the sound it makes invents a term for the sound it makes and he laughs and is deeper than we can go and our touch leaves us and does not report back and we say please don’t please tell him
Captions like kite, with killed kitten. Saying synapse as swanwasp. My son dies in the same mind I use to prepare for his body. I internalize the slurring of swanwasp. Form, take a swimmer.
kingsoftrain 