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May 21, 2020 / barton smock

untitled

I have my pipe
and you
your cigarette

each
our bone
with a raindrop
in it

our grandfathers
are dead
are still
dead
and we’re
near a water

a water that is really
a circle
afraid
of stick figures
some of which
I still
draw

their invisible
zeroes
kissing
in a thunderstorm
that god
can’t remember

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