a number of my sadnesses have disappeared
In prose there is no instant miracle. My son is yet alive. Not every angel in heaven knows about the world. The ones that do have stomachs. Eating disorders cure magic. Put a snake’s egg under the shirt of your most boythinking doll. Piano: fingers asleep on the stitched-up skin of god. A number of my sadnesses have disappeared. My hair that way.
kingsoftrain 
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