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May 24, 2019 / barton smock

{ from BLUE MIND }




and when the creatures came back they were all the same size and my son was still sick and I put my ear to my mother’s and asked for the maker of god-painted sound and my son was a hole and I was grief in a gravedigger’s dream and we ate I think apples there


I miss
of you

does art
lose everything
made visible

by grief


I lost my voice believing in ghosts and before that

spoonfed my brother until he tied me to a chair. this was the beginning of wanting my kids to play dead in front of the nothing my eyes could do. one sockless and one sick. not forever.


there is a book
dad says
(they say

is for children.

and the long

find it

and we’ll stop eating
the creature you couldn’t describe


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