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March 2, 2021 / barton smock

somewhere even younger an imagined thunder the size of a seasick dog has crushed again the baby for crushing pills

To heal her brother, she asks me to brush her hair. She jokes that when I’m done she’ll not only show me the scab but also remove it so I can see where her batteries went. I tell her the fish are biting and that my father is wanted. Touch leaves me alone and it must look often as if I am trying to get a pair of scissors to eat snow. For every angel sick of heaven, there’s a shadow passed out in a dream.

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