The mouth is the only wound denied entry into paradise. Each eye beats birthmark to the body. The angels find us, forget. A tooth like a ghost growing in a fog bathes itself in a window. Bombs, miss. Meat into dust, that ****** hoax. All but a pair of creatures know the truth. God taken by two kids who can’t move.

Birth never gets its person. The title of this poem was once Babies no one can lift and the churches that hide them. I keep thinking of that flood, and how it had to have killed children blissed out on breathing and how it had to have betrayed those animals drunk on a quieter water. Ah drink, ah brothers, a toast: To the life I spent on my impossible disappearance. A thought everyone will end up having is god watched me die the longest. They don’t’ have a sister. A comb with her hair.

I was writing in the dream to you about the dream. A quick note, really. How to replace a lightbulb. Treat a deer bite. How you should never let someone cut your hair while it’s raining. A little story about your mother selling baby teeth at the crucifixion. Not yours. See pic.

they are spam and were yesterday and will be tomorrow and god will keep loving you because she is dumb anyway you're dumber than god is what I'm saying

A machine in the ghosted and are these yes the agreed upon animals. Error prone infant, my mistake is gone forever. My favorite action movie is classism and ours is a silent one about god forgetting to save her progress. I thought it would be the eating that would be hard to devour. Obsession is a border. Sometimes when I babysit apocalypse you die behind death's back.

Blink
And you'll miss

Outside of the dream a wasp drags mournfully its own hovering as if it could have in this world a single nightmare for a tormented pair of scissors struck angelic in a field of hair. Outside of the dream, communion. Audio of my body’s interview with the cannibal. What else. A price. An infant’s barber, sad as an ear, whose money we remember to have.

is there maybe
a way
to come back
from my living

a rare
disorder
wrapped
in a cigarette

safe
sad

a skin cell
dead
to the face
of god
an angel

designed
by an angel
a baby
walking

too early
an egg
cracked
in a star
please

can we put
in our arms, that

(something small
(that walked

for Andrei Tarkovsky

It takes three ghosts to end the present. Outside it smells like not touching you. I don’t go anywhere without my bomb. There’s no place on earth on earth. I don’t take photographs I can look at. My body has never been a body to your quieter mother. I drink myself into walking. Three ghosts eat the mouth of an angel from the back of the very spider that called god with a handprint into hand’s only dream. There a tooth, and trainsets. Inside the movie there are two rules. We’re alone. You can’t miss it. Don’t look at photographs that answer to image.