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February 17, 2021 / barton smock

location notes

The television is always this close to placing the perfect image on the grave of its grave. The children love loss, or anything they find twice. Never both. It’s as if I am trying to remember what kept me up at night before I was born. The baby cries but cannot weep. The cat has this look mom calls changing ghosts and then there’s less and less cat to forget. I have misspelled a word more often than you’ve died. Are you gone, or nowhere?

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