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January 25, 2018 / barton smock

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like an invisible woman born with a glass eye, he will (hymn) that love is his mother now and he will not hymn that love is a microscope courting the lost look of a barium drinker and he will not hymn bombs and he will not hymn that silence is merely a father’s diary of absence and he will not hymn the names of the anonymously lighthearted and he will not hymn the drive-ins frequented by your nonimmigrant god and he will (hymn) further that her blood be a flagless ghost inside any body not placed on a blown off door

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