I dip my body in a paint that makes rain cry.

Alcohol is a warden.

I read re-predicted nonfiction.

I miss
my mom
with god
with god
I miss
my mom.

What if all I’ve taught my children is how
to love me.

I want to touch all the writers
in the places
numbed
by what
they read.

I watch that one movie where you pretend to be
disabled
poor
my smarter

brother.

Possessed by return

god
is unbearable.

Imaginary
bombs
imagine.

Climate change killed a ghost and every angel slept.

Animals hid their dreaming.

Microwaves
confessed

to hummingbirds.

Our longest death
remained a boy
his brain
god’s
now

I was sick and tried to finish a cigarette. Online at least I can speak my prayers to a god that leaves me godless. Any weapon you hold has been tested on a child. Any weapon you don't on a field of children put to sleep. I don't love my children because loving puts nearness on a map only angels can fold. I with them watch cringe compilations of miracles. They die but who's counting.

sometimes they **** every last
others
every
first

oh nursery of injured microscopes,
we only bomb those whose blood can disappear

when I don’t hear from you, I don’t think you’re dead

I’ll see it when I know it
in fact
I have
the words

Memory stops eating in the afterlife of the past.
A cigarette can sometimes be a search party that finds nothing.
Angels change their *** based on the owl that hears them.
In church I break my fingers trying to open a baseball full of rice.
The breaking happens so silently we are noticed, say my fingers, by god.
Will my children see my body

touch sleeps in a blue mirror

I wrap a dead mouse in a blurry map and miss
three
of the four
children
that were me

super quiet parents

designed the tornado designed a still child’s stomach for the painter of tornadoes

designed the healthy designed a tongue scraping by on nudes reading from god’s fingertips

designed the sick designed the sick getting sick outside

designed vigil designed a prayer-chain drinking game

designed the baby designed a baby okay with dying

designed intimacy designed a son speaking near his father’s mouth

designed a fingernail designed a method of tracing a haircut inside of a circle the moon met online

write to your mother and live

Stop using canaries. Small motherless bombmakers give birth on the moon. Their crying is real but they have healthcare. No one asks god what the body can do. Hope used to be devastating. I recognize this place again and again. A sick son’s brain is the dog of time. Jesus died, came back, and named his ghosts Cain and Abel. We fill a microwave with cigarettes and the television calls it a birdfeeder. A school is the church of school shootings.

I get sad and write on myself.
Watch hunger like it’s a tattoo god is practicing.
Is this the life to say goodbye from?
We have to give these guns to someone.

I come to in the middle of eating. I am making a sound that drags an ear through the stomach of an angel. My sons catch fish with silence. My daughter sings them to a cricket left in a human mirror. By the time our loneliness reaches god, we’ve been created.