Eden created time so Eve could end god’s suffering. I only worry about my son’s death because I can’t leave his dying to others. That’s the alcohol being silent. Watching is just seeing a cyclops cry. **** that kid, is what you’re saying. Skin is the real winner. The bone has a bone’s name.

There is no god left for god to impress. At night I grow in my arm an arm for my son. My dream lasts for three days. An animal forgetting to drink. A perfect stick crying itself white in a hell of dog heads. *** doesn’t know what this poem is about. Eating is a shape death knows to eat around. Heaven only looks abandoned. Imagine a shooting range. Not that one.

A deer
helps lightning
run
from a ghost

A deer helps lightning run from a ghost

I have a gun
but the world is empty

I am still smaller than the god of my aim
Wait

Regret
has a moth
to bury

In an emptiness designed by no one

tried
to print
touch

My knees pray to sugar. I name my sadness after a mountain. Inside the mountain a flower bends to impress worship. No more poems about drinking. No more singsong scarring in the baths I take to burn myself. In a video store a preacher falls asleep emptying the late bibles of my belief. You can’t tell because of the starfish on his face, but that’s Jesus. So what if I yell at a friend in the throes of soft **** capitalism. Oh moon of blank want. I eat myself out to make my brothers laugh. Oh scarce feast of intimacy. My cousin’s band has the best name ever. Everyone is alive. Let’s get high and love our moms.

designed the afterlife designed the afterlife of missing children

designed the dream designed its biological dream

designed image designed a look for the expressionless to use in their broadcast of our expired witness

designed passage designed nothing moving in doom’s souvenir deer

death
isn’t moving

a ghost is an angel that remembers killing god