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April 16, 2026 / barton smock

unicorn ghost

In rabbit astronomy, a hole touches a hole. I want you to imagine the loneliness of being a thing that others its own cure. Death loves the disabled. I am still hurt by the art you don't like. My brothers have started running. Dearest brothers I was hit at a different clip by those who would say a prayer over weapons buried in the garden. I don't think anyone should receive an award for writing prose. School shootings, that's why. Also psalms. Also haiku. Also the age nostalgia reaches in America and the age it doesn't in Israel. Death loves the disabled. Did I say that already? God sure misses being notified of the yearning we've created.  

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