God was in the room that was later turned into god.

Did your loved ones get out?

Jesus wore a spoon around his neck.
It helped him sleep.

Dear Ethel Cain

Despair is a food group. I had to read the line again that said my brother’s hand was eating out an angel. Cannibals surprise their mothers in Eden. Is skin still the longest dream? My fake sleep is not your fake sleep. I thumb my own eyes in the shepherd machine.

Existence a distress signal

mimicked by those
visitors
looking
for the body
of god

Dear Ethel Cain

somehow for both Aria Aber and Franz Wright it’s hard to have good brothers I can’t go a week without drinking because the week is from 1983 touch resurrects itself how lonely sleep is named after sleep my eyes fight over two memories a line of ants carry a lightbulb to god I pray in a bullet to a melancholy bee don’t be afraid there in no nowlife

in divine distraction
to worry
on the child’s
past

The poem says so little.

Food is a ghost that saves my mouth.

Hi, all my gods stop dreaming at once.

Dear Ethel Cain

I try to sing. I am not cold. Where deep designs of making hold.