Jun 2015
extramural (i)
as he prepared to leave my world to the memory of a man addicted to god, my father was stung by a bee. this matters. bees carried the scent of absence. bees spoke to mother. mother was the woman it took two like my father to make. mother swallowed to bruise the body of any dropped thing sounding itself out in a nightmare had by children new to infancy. mother swallowed and called it singing. there will be a god. this matters. perfect, now, the nothing you say.
extramural (ii)
as acne commits my face to a memory of scripture, god worries that man’s silence is a pox upon both the crow and the crow. on good authority, the cyclops is blind in one eye. you were tortured, yes, but nothing stands out. my living hand performs for my dying. imagine my father’s dismay at the realization yours had of having done this autopsy before.
extramural (iii)
the fireplace is on drugs. get the good rope and tie it around the wrist of the hand I want dead.
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on a drive I’ve undertaken to see my brother, it comes to me that odd things were being sold. jesus-on-a-stick. the crown of thorns, extra. I close my eyes. I dare the brain. the brain says it’s off to be forgiven.
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brother has one ugly foot and one beautiful. I have this disorder causes me to fully remember dreams
dreams only
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everything happened in 1985. words don’t mean. numbers mean. tell your gay father he has nothing to do with himself.
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the wind is asleep. it sleeps outside.
extramural (iv)
uncle has been all day figuring the teeth of his that will never touch. he has this riddle he calls code for what to get the man who has nothing. if I can get him to stop biting his wrists I might be able to chalk something won’t need moved. when I was born, I was small enough to fit in most mouths. uncle is not the tiniest bit mad. he holds babies only when they are hungry and he is not. those with angels think those without are selfish.
extramural (v)*
the people are looking for something that tells them what to show. my father can’t hear the storm for the honey on his knees. at birth, a blown eardrum gives the kid a way out of making friends. a sermon about washing a mountain with a rock takes a word from my mother’s mouth. grief is a good listener.
as he prepared to leave my world to the memory of a man addicted to god, my father was stung by a bee. this matters. bees carried the scent of absence. bees spoke to mother. mother was the woman it took two like my father to make. mother swallowed to bruise the body of any dropped thing sounding itself out in a nightmare had by children new to infancy. mother swallowed and called it singing. there will be a god. this matters. perfect, now, the nothing you say.
extramural (ii)
as acne commits my face to a memory of scripture, god worries that man’s silence is a pox upon both the crow and the crow. on good authority, the cyclops is blind in one eye. you were tortured, yes, but nothing stands out. my living hand performs for my dying. imagine my father’s dismay at the realization yours had of having done this autopsy before.
extramural (iii)
the fireplace is on drugs. get the good rope and tie it around the wrist of the hand I want dead.
-
on a drive I’ve undertaken to see my brother, it comes to me that odd things were being sold. jesus-on-a-stick. the crown of thorns, extra. I close my eyes. I dare the brain. the brain says it’s off to be forgiven.
-
brother has one ugly foot and one beautiful. I have this disorder causes me to fully remember dreams
dreams only
-
everything happened in 1985. words don’t mean. numbers mean. tell your gay father he has nothing to do with himself.
-
the wind is asleep. it sleeps outside.
extramural (iv)
uncle has been all day figuring the teeth of his that will never touch. he has this riddle he calls code for what to get the man who has nothing. if I can get him to stop biting his wrists I might be able to chalk something won’t need moved. when I was born, I was small enough to fit in most mouths. uncle is not the tiniest bit mad. he holds babies only when they are hungry and he is not. those with angels think those without are selfish.
extramural (v)*
the people are looking for something that tells them what to show. my father can’t hear the storm for the honey on his knees. at birth, a blown eardrum gives the kid a way out of making friends. a sermon about washing a mountain with a rock takes a word from my mother’s mouth. grief is a good listener.
