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February 22, 2018 / barton smock

{placement for a not thing}

how at age 15 I was asked to play at easter service the son of god and had to hold my arms up for so long that I

with focus enough to bend a spoon

begged for a nail and how it was an eternity inside of which my father had been gay and how he had to love for years so invisibly that it gave him cancer and I thought and he thought

he was dying and he was so close and how at the highest point of faking his accidental death he became concerned about the reading material in the lobby of the hospital’s x-ray floor and so brought

from home his own

books and magazines like some editor of a stranger’s

last words and now I wonder how to hold a thing up to my father in a way that is not decorated
with discovery

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