genitalia,
genitalia 13
A man screams that he remembers being a child. His last mother weighs herself inside of a piano playing a song later named something nearer to
the permanence of a crow in the snow. We play word games as a family because we think that kid is dead not living
and burned. I hide my eating at the inn and my food in the church’s basement. No one is first to the body. No one is second. The future makes what it can of faster longing. It’s not much but it’s much.
kingsoftrain 
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