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June 30, 2016 / barton smock

on short notice, a woman narrates her own beating

MRI, or the stickman’s

first
snowstorm.

a telephone called depression.

we can no more save
the alien
that died
for jesus

than we can write
the dog-whistle
bible.

I’m sad because I’m circumcised.

the scarecrow
has dreams
of becoming
a surgeon.

I’m no expert on sleep. I’m being followed

by a coat hanger.

/ ask my hand if it’s true that all the babies had to stay in their mothers to survive.

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