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July 13, 2022 / barton smock

waysides

Near an Ohio church for those who crawl early, an angel unable to think about death leaves its pain for a ghost. A ghost is a map, but not everyone knows. How close are we? I remember we could laugh in two places at once. Movie theater. Rest stop. At your father who wrote that his children would be in so much paint. I spell when you spell. When nothing’s there.

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