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March 27, 2023 / barton smock

small poems against dying

An impossible stone. And in the stone the middle sick child of noise. And in the child a clueless crow. Now strikes now. Pain only remembers tomorrow. 

I won't create god. He keeps asking. 

The extent of my knowing is that I know it is there, 
the thing my life interrupts.

She, her, field. Leaving 

on an Ohio

a mouse
to invent

The angels are fine. Miracles are terrifying.

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